


A Cup Overflowing

by KINGBeerZ



Series: An Elf, A Dwarf and A Man [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Brecilian Forest, Canon Divergence, Circle of Magi, Denerim, Drama, F/M, Fantasy Racism, Ferelden, Game Novelisation, Grey Wardens, Highever, It's gonna be a big one folks, M/M, Multi Warden, Orzammar, Ostagar, Redcliffe, Romance, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Use of In Game Dialogue, Violence, many more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:30:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGBeerZ/pseuds/KINGBeerZ
Summary: So stop me if you've heard this one before. A dwarf, an elf and a human all have to drink tainted blood from a goblet...





	1. Skala

**Author's Note:**

> Wooo, for anyone who has read any of the three introductory 11 years prior fics, welcome to the main attraction, and welcome to everyone just finding this. If you haven't read the other fics in the series you don't need to to understand this one, but you might enjoy them anyway, so I recommend you give them a look if you like this. Sadly I am writing this one as I go, so updates will not be regular, I will try to post as often as I can, at least once a week hopefully if not more. A massive thanks to Ray Murata for all their encouragement and help with this fic, and for beta reading this first chapter, couldn't have done it without you my friend. To all of you, go check out their fic Wayward Heart if you enjoy Warden/Zev stuff, they are really good at it. As always please comment if there's anything you like, or leave a kudos, or whatever, I will be happy for any feedback you guys give. Now without further ado, please enjoy the fic.

The clank and thud of armored boots echoed through the deep roads. Ancient horrors skittered through the long fallen halls of the dwarves, darting between the burning light of lava channels and suffocating darkness of the surrounding caves. Skala trudged on, steps weighed down by exertion and exhaustion of the events of the past few days, cheek stinging fiercely. 

_Trian… Bhelen…_ she refused to utter the name knowing the bitter taste it would leave upon her tongue. Fortunately she was spared from the thoughts for a few moments as a Hurlock lumbered around the corner before her. 

The vile creature was a twisted parody of a human flesh, discoloured and lumpy, like a waterlogged corpse. As it spotted the dwarf it opened its rancid maw and let loose a guttural scream, viscous saliva and a stomach churning stench splattering forth. The drakspawn raised a notched and crude sword and moved to charge. Skala exasperatedly raised her own greatsword, with precise timing she slashed, making use of her blades superior range to disembowel the creature before it could reach her. Discoloured and ropy innards spilled forth. The darkspawn fell forward and began to crawl towards her. She bitterly reflected that the darkspawn really did have tenacity. As she brought her shining and crimson-black stained blade down through the creature’s neck she wondered what the difference between her and the disgusting creature was. Already dead but crawling forward anyway.  
\--#--  


“By the stone it’s Trian!” Gorim exclaimed, kneeling to examine the dead prince. 

Skala’s stomach tightened, thoughts racing through her head. She joined Gorim beside her dead brother. A pang of sadness flowed through her at seeing Trian’s corpse. He may have been a tempestuous nug-headed jerk, but even so he was her brother. 

Frandlin and the Aeducan scout worriedly discussed the possible causes of Trian’s death. Frandlin suggested darkspawn but to Skala it was clear that wasn’t the case. Trian’s throat had been opened up cleanly, no excessive violence and no mutilation of the corpse.  


“Bhelen,” she murmured. Ancestor’s curse that backstabber. Frandlin seemed confused, but a glance at Gorim showed her trusted second knew what was going on.  
A noisy clanking of armor heralded Bhelen’s frantic warnings.  


“Hurry Father, before it’s too late!” He emerged from around the bend followed by their father, Endrin, Lord Harrowmont, some nobles and several guards. Skala narrowed her eyes at him; of course Bhelen would set this up with as many ‘reliable’ witnesses as possible. Endrin pushed his way to the front of the group and rushed forward towards Trian’s body. Yet he nearly slowed to a stop when he saw the state of his son, shortly after the King’s legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees.  


“By all the ancestor’s… what has happened here!” Endrin demanded.  


“It seems we weren’t fast enough. Bhelen was right,” one of Bhelen’s lackeys called. Skala thought he sounded terribly unconvincing. Yet her father was clearly in no state to listen, placing a shaking hand on Trian’s neck, as if to stem the sluggishly flowing blood.  


“My daughter… Skala, tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” Endrin turned pained eyes towards her. She met him with a steady gaze. Remain calm, hysterics will just make them think you’re guilty… if they didn’t already.  


“Father. I did not kill Trian. I arrived here only moments ago,” she said levelly. Father met her gaze,;he was about to speak when Bhelen interrupted.  


“Just long enough to slay Trian,” he called from the other side of the corpse. Skala gave him a bitter glare but when she turned back to her Father he was no longer meeting her gaze.  


“My Lady is innocent,” Gorim claimed. The effort warmed her yet she knew his word would not be considered worth much, shortly afterwards Harrowmont claimed the same.  


“Sir Gorim, your loyalty makes you a useless witness. It falls to others to tell the story,” he said solemnly. He turned to the scout for his account.  


“Trian and his men were here early. It seems they’d done battle with the Darkspawn. Lady Aeducan came up them, all friendly-like, but when we got close, she ordered us to attack!” He recited. This one was a better actor than the stooge who spoke earlier. Skala grit her teeth, feeling the jaws of Bhelen’s trap bite into her. There was a possible way out, yet it was a gamble.  


“This man is a liar.” She declared proudly. She then pointed towards Frandlin Ivo.  


“Frandlin Ivo is a man of caliber. Let us hear what he has to say of this.” She had granted him the honour of the prize helmet of the Proving before the expedition left. There was a chance she may have his favour.  


“The scout…” Frandlin looked between her and Bhelen “he spoke the truth. It was… terrible. Prince Trian didn’t stand a chance.”Skala’s gamble failed. She sighed. There was hesitation in the man’s voice but not enough.  


“You treacherous bastard!” Gorim roared. He tried to throw himself at the young noble, yet some of Bhelen’s guards held him back. He struggled against them savagely.  


“Silence Gorim!” King Endrin commanded, then he turned to Skala looking desperate.  


“My daughter. Is there anything else you have to say?” He asked. The princess drew herself to her full height, and tilted her chin up, they could not take her dignity.  


“This is a setup.” She declared. “If you do not see it now, you will soon. But by then it will be too late Father.” Endrin screwed his eyes shut.  


“I wish I could believe that you are innocent my daughter.” Lord Harrowmont called for the guards to bind her, to be judged before the assembly upon their return to Orzammar. As she was led away she gave Gorim an apologetic look. Her friend did not deserve to be caught up in her brother’s schemes.  
\--#--  


Her cell in Orzammar was dank, hard and cold. Locked away behind so many stone walls the underground became chill, and the cold began to seep into her bones without a fire or the lava lake that warmed the majority of the city. 

Skala sat cross legged, head bowed, thinking of anything to keep her mind off the chill. Exposing Bhelen as a treacherous rat was high on the list of pleasant topics, yet she knew that the hope of that was slim. Her musings were disturbed by the guards announcing she had a visitor. A novel occurrence in the four days she had been locked up. When she saw Gorim round the corner she quickly stood to greet her Second.  


“Gorim.” She greeted warmly.  


“I… I would have come sooner had they allowed it. How are you?” He hesitantly asked. Skala gave a bitter chuckle.  


“Oh I’m wonderful, couldn’t be better. You?”  


“I could be better. I have bad news… The Assembly isn’t going to call for you. Bhelen has taken Trian’s place in The Assembly. He introduced a notion to condemn you immediately, and it easily passed.” Gorim informed her. Skala noticed him clenching his fists at his sides.  


“He had half the assembly ready to vote for something completely against tradition and justice. He must have been making deals for months… maybe even years.”  


“And those who disagreed?” Skala inquired.  


“Some like Harrowmont are suspicious of Bhelen’s sudden rise to power… but-”  


“They were too slow and Bhelen’s already gotten what he wanted?” Skala finished for Gorim, who nodded in affirmation. Skala sighed deeply before seating herself once more.  


“What is to happen to us then?” She asked. Gorim sat beside her, the two separated by only the bars of her cell.  


“My name will be stricken from my family records, my knighthood will be stripped. But I will be allowed to live on the surface.” Skala could feel Gorim’s pain, duty meant everything to him, he was a man of tradition and to be forced out of Orzammar was a cruel punishment. She dreaded what Bhelen had planned for her if he went to such lengths to hurt her friend.  


“Lord Harrowmont, he moved for a similar banishment for you. But Bhelen’s supporters shouted him down.” Gorim took a shuddering breath. “They’re declaring you casteless, and sending you into the deep roads to fight the darkspawn until your death.” An involuntary gasp escaped Skala.  


“And Father does nothing about this?” She demanded.  


“He has taken ill, apparently he could not bear the loss of two of his children.” Gorim whispered back to her, almost conciliatorily.  


“So, Bhelen will likely succeed the crown. And he expects me to die quietly in the deep roads. Casteless and forgotten.” Skala spat, slamming her fist to the ground.  


“There is a way out of this my lady.” Skala swiveled to look to at Gorim.

“Lord Harrowmont granted me entry to visit you. He told me that the Grey Warden Duncan, and a few others will be in the Deep Roads nearby, if you can seek them out you may be able to join.” 

_The wardens are honourable, and well respected_ , Skala reflected. If she were to join them she might be able to bring Bhelen’s treachery to light. The Deep Roads were huge, the odds of her finding the wardens were slim, but giving up would give her no chance at all.  


“I will,” she said. “Gorim, just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”  


“For you my lady, always.” The guard ushered him out of the prison shortly afterwards.  


A few hours later a group of guards came for her and dragged her to a small room. She was thankful for Gorim’s warning yet it did not make what was to come any more pleasant. She was strapped into a stone chair with thick leather restraints. A couple of minutes later a bald dwarf entered carrying a metal case. Opening it he withdrew several implements for cutting skin and injecting ink.  


“The brand then?” Skala asked calmly whilst her heart thundered in her ribs and every reflex screamed at her to struggle and escape. Predictably the bald man did not reply and merely went about his business. She closed her eyes and waited, steadying her breathing and preparing herself. 

The pain of the procedure was great but she had suffered worse. Skala knew however that the wound would be more destructive and lasting than any other she had taken. She was a princess of stone and they would not see her squirm or cry out or scream.  


_I am innocent_ , she told herself, _I am not truly casteless_. 

She repeated these words in her head as a mantra until an hour later the bald dwarf stepped back and began to clean and pack away his tools. As her guards manhandled her away she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the armour of one. Her visage was now marred by a dark black geometric S shape on her left cheek. She held in the tears at the dishonor, but just barely.

They had escorted her to the gates out of the city where Harrowmont waited. He formally declared her no longer a person nor a memory and sentenced her to be cast into the Deep Roads to fight the enemies of Orzammar until she died, though his voice sounded strained and pained. Skala did not respond.  


“Please, for your Father’s sake. Tell me you didn’t do this.” He pleaded with her.  


“I did not kill Trian.” She told him, levelly meeting his gaze.  


“I believe you,” the Lord responded gravely. “That means Bhelen planned this from the start. Believe me. I shall spend the rest of my days making sure he does not profit from his deeds.”.  


“Good,” She responded, but she doubted he could truly do anything.  


“Your Father asked me to give this to you. This greatsword is of fine dwarven make. Strike a blow at our enemies.” She took the sword from him with a nod.  


“Father?” Skala was honestly surprised he had not given up on her with Bhelen pouring poisoned words in his ears.  


“This tragedy has hit him hard. But he shall rest better now knowing the truth.” Skala supposed that was some conciliation.  


“Tell him I went to a warrior’s death.” She commanded Harrowmont. Whether she joined the Wardens or not her end would be fighting Darkspawn. Harrowmont gently placed a hand on her shoulder.  


“I will.” And with that Skala was sent through the gates of Orzammar, never to return.  
\--#--  


Skala stomped upon the chest of the Hurlock as she walked past it, a spurt of blood escaping the disgusting creature. She shook herself out of her melancholy. A day and a half of trudging through the deep roads wouldn’t conquer her. 

She just needed to reach the wardens. As if the stone were answering her prayers her ears picked something out, it was indistinct but it sounded like voices. The only things that spoke in the deep roads were dwarves and wardens. 

If it was the former she would be ignored as a… casteless. _unless it is the legion_ the thought of joining them was tantalizing, but she quicky squashed it, it was no true solution. If it were the wardens though she might have found a way out. 

Rounding bend after turn, she followed the voices at each crossroad, steadily increasing her pace. The voices grew louder, andjudging by the accent they clearly weren’t from Orzammar, which meant that Harrowmont’s information had been correct; she’d have to thank the old man after she deposed Bhelen. One last turn brought the wardens into view, a group of four human men.  


“Wardens!” She yelled, voice echoing in the hollow passage. The group turned to face her, slightly tense, ready for battle, she was glad wardens had the foresight to remain vigilant even in quiet stretches of the Deep Roads. The quartet stopped as she quickly closed the distance to meet them.  


“By the Maker, it’s a dwarf!” The gaunt faced bald man exclaimed. Of the group of four she only recognized Duncan, whom she had met briefly before the expedition.  


“Lady Aeducan! What are you doing here alone? Where are your troops?” He enquired. Skala merely planted the tip of her sword in the ground and tilted her head upwards to meet his gaze, her new brand clearly visible.  


“I wish to join the grey wardens,” she declared. The bald man peered at her for a moment from the side.  


“Hang on, you said _Lady_ Aeducan Duncan. Why do you have that brand then?” The man asked Skala. As she thought of an appropriate answer Duncan quickly stepped in.  


“I do not believe matters of dwarven honor are any business of ours. You need not answer, friend.” He turned once more to Skala.  


“You are clearly a woman of ability,” his eyes flicked up and down her bloodstained form “and I would expect nothing less from an Aeducan. We would be happy to allow you to join our order. I suggest you stay close, there are Darkspawn around every corner.” Skala snorted at that, she’d experienced it first hand. A slight smirk graced Duncan’s face at her reaction.  


The journey to the surface took two more days of travel. During that time many darkspawn ambushed and attacked the small party, but the superior skills of the Wardens were not exaggerated from the legends Skala had grown up with, and the beasts were easily overcome. True to his word Duncan never forced Skala to speak of what had occurred between her and her brothers, yet he often cast her looks suggesting that it would be a matter that would need to be brought up in the future.  
\--#--  


Emerging onto the surface brought about a sickening sensation of vertigo, as well as a profound nausea and horror settling into Skala’s stomach. 

Endless blue stretched above her, marred by only the occasional fluff of white. It was too much, the endless open expanse. Coming into a new world without boundaries above her was overwhelming. Skala stopped moving and closed her eyes. She took a few minutes to just breathe, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing through her, cold and crisp, and far fresher than she was used to.  


“I understand it can be overwhelming for many.” Duncan lightly commented from beside her. The ex-princess gave a short nod, not trusting her voice to speak. “Take a moment, we are in no rush.” 

Skala appreciated Duncan’s calm disposition and understanding. A brash drill sergeant yelling at her to move wouldn’t have helped matters. But with the Warden beside her, her breath soon calmed and she felt ready to move again. 

When she opened her eyes once again she saw a thinly forested slope, with the other three wardens approaching a light camp nestled amongst the trees. She could pick out two more men sitting at the camp.

Duncan led her down the gentle incline. Skala was inwardly thankful that the ground was not too rocky, for her legs still felt a little shaky and unsure. As she neared the camp she took in the two new men. 

One was a lean looking man, slightly shorter than average with dark curls and a glint of amusement in his eye. The other was all in heavy plate, looking genuinely relieved at the return of the wardens, his heavy rounded features pulling into a calmed smile at their return.  


“Daveth, Jory.” Duncan nodded to each man in turn. “This is Skala, she is a recruit like yourselves.” Skala gave the pair of humans a nod, reflecting that despite the wardens supposedly taking members from all races and creeds, the balance seemed skewed towards human men.  


“I look forward to working with you.” She firmly clasped Jory’s hand. He looked at her face for a second.  


“That is an interesting tattoo Skala, is it a tradition of warriors in Orzammar?” He inquired. Skala bristled, not sure if such a question came from genuine ignorance or if the man was trying to wind her up. Duncan quickly stepped between the pair.  


“Jory, that is not a topic for discussion.” Duncan gently admonished. Jory looked baffled.  


“Oooh, you’re in trouble there Sir Knight!”Daveth called from across the camp.  


“I… meant no offence. I didn’t realise the topic was sensitive.” Jory defended.  


“Then be more careful in what you say.” Skala gruffly replied. Jory looked crestfallen for a moment before seeming to remember something. He rummaged through his pockets for a minute before producing a letter. Skala noticed it had a seal that consisted of a Ring with a pair of horizontal lines cutting through it at the base. She didn’t recognize it, so the message clearly came from outside of Orzammar.  


“A message came for you Duncan. Daveth and I held onto it.” He quickly handed said letter to the older man, fidgeting somewhat nervously afterwards whilst Duncan read its contents. After finishing he folded the letter away and called to the other wardens.  


“Samwell, Hector, Oliver.” The three other wardens came to him quickly. “Can I trust you to escort Daveth and Jory to Ostagar? It seems that I must make a detour.” He calmly requested.  


“What about Skala then?” The bald man asked.  


“She will be coming with me Samwell, I wish to give her some additional instruction before meeting with the army. An additional sword on the road will also be useful.” Samwell eyed Skala quizzically, somewhat baffled by Duncan’s decision.  


“Okay then…” He trailed off. Duncan merely nodded in confirmation.  
\--#--  


The next day the five other men departed on the Southern road whilst Skala and Duncan turned to the East.  


“Duncan.” She called.  


“Yes Skala?” He replied.  


“Where is that we are headed?” Duncan chuckled in response to her question.  


“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the Circle of Magi?”


	2. Mithos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mithos Surana officially becomes a mage of the circle, and breaks its rules for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, chapter 2, it's like 4k words, I am on fire lately! As per usual thanks to Ray Murata for helping to make this work happen with their encouragement and proofreading. I am actually looking for someone to take over the Beta-ing process, so if there is anyone who would be interested in it please leave a comment down below, and as always, enjoy.

_“True tests never end.”_

Mouse’s parting words echoed through his barely aware mind alongside flashes of the hulking pride demon he had become. For a time he drifted, not fully immersed in the fade or in the waking world. He felt lyrium pulse through his veins, singing softly as it always did, and slowing reality to the andante tempo of its half heard song. 

“Mithos…” Someone was calling for him, at least, he thought they were. The sound passed through him to a degree, the Lyrium song had quietened but not wholly abated. 

“Mithos…” The call rang out again, more insistent this time. It was someone important calling him, he just couldn’t quite place it.

“Mithos!” With a gasp the elf sprang awake, already wide grey eyes bulging comically as he took in his surrounds. The apprentice dorms. 

Most of the room was deserted, only a few of the youngest apprentices still being present, their workload being less heavy than their older contemporaries. Well, them and Jowan, Mithos felt a surge of warmth and smiled gently at the human, Jowan was always there.

“Thank the Maker you’re alive, I heard them come and get you last night, and I wasn’t sure if you’d come back…” Jowan trailed off and wouldn’t meet Mithos’ gaze.

“I did though.” Mithos replied. Jowan gave a grin.

“You did.” He looked at the younger apprentices, lingering and doing a bad job at pretending not to eavesdrop. Jowan made a shooing motion and they hurried out of the room. 

“So, what was the harrowing like? Any details you can share?” Jowan leaned in eagerly as he probed him. Mithos felt some of his elation at passing the harrowing dissipate, he gripped Jowan’s hands between his.

“Jowan, you’re my best friend, I want to help you, but I can’t tell you… You know I can’t betray the circle like that.” Mithos earnestly told the apprentice. Jowan pulled away from Mithos and crossed his arms. 

“Well you’re properly a part of it now, aren’t you? You get to move to the nice mage quarters upstairs, and who knows when I’ll even get called for my harrowing.” He whined.

“It’ll be soon Jowan, I can tell you’re ready, surely the First Enchanter can too. You have to get harrowed some time.” Mithos consoled his friend. 

“The tranquil never get harrowed.” Jowan muttered.

“Jowan. Don’t joke about that.” The thought of Jowan as a tranquil was sickening. To never see his smirk when he cast a tricky spell or the adorable huff when he failed, to lose his oldest and dearest… friend, was unthinkable.

“Fine, fine,” Jowan said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Apparently the First Enchanter wanted to see you when you woke up.” Jowan remarked. Mithos nearly sprang out of bed in response. 

“First Enchanter Irving? Jowan you should have told me sooner!” The elf admonished, his friend huffed a laugh at his hyperbolic reaction. 

“Alright Mithos, I’m sorry,” he chuckled “there was something else I wanted to ask you, but it can wait until after your _super important_ meeting with your mentor, who you see every day.” He added. 

“Well he _is_ the first enchanter.” Mithos grumbled in response as he tugged on some soft leather boots and ran his hands through his bright blond hair to bring it into order. 

Mithos gave Jowan a quick wave as he rushed out of the apprentice dorms. The young elf dashed through the first floor corridors until he reached the library. Entering the vast repository of knowledge he slowed to a quick walk. One of the first rules drilled into circle mages is to never run in a magical practice space. Although it didn’t seem to cut on apprentices accidentally being ignited, frozen or paralyzed that much. 

He felt a pang of sympathy as he saw Merrin abruptly burst into flames as he failed to control a spell. He quickly made his way over to help heal the apprentice’s burns in the wake of the failed exercise.

“Mr Surana, please leave us to the lesson,” the supervising mage (Stanley) drawled “ _you_ will hardly be helpful for instruction in primal magic.”  
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry.” He apologized, shrinking in on himself, but not before quickly repairing Merrin’s burned skin. Which led to him being shooed away more firmly before he could stimulate hair regrowth. Merrin would have to deal with a bald spot. 

In the next room he saw Madeline lecturing some of the youngest apprentices about the role of magic in the world, and the dangers of its corruption, he nostalgically recalled when she gave him the same lecture shortly after arising.

Soon he was passing out of the library and quickly climbing the steps to the second level, resuming his hurried pace. Which was stopped dead as he rounded a corner and clanged headlong into a suit of armour. 

“M-Mage Surana, are you alright?” He heard a voice stutter in concern. Mithos rubbed his head as he grabbed ahold of the proffered hand. 

“That’s alright Ser Cullen,” Mithos said, as the Templar pulled him upright. “I really should watch where I’m going more.” There was a beat of silence.

“Well… I’m glad your harrowing went well.” Cullen awkwardly commended. 

“Thanks… oh you were there weren’t you?” Mithos vaguely recalled through the Lyrium haze on his memories Cullen being one of the Templars in attendance.

“Yes, were you to… fail. I was to deliver the blow to strike you down.” Cullen answered with some hesitation. Mithos patted him on the arm.

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t come to that then.” He chirped. Cullen sighed.

“Honestly I wasn’t sure what to look for, this is all new to me. I haven’t even seen an abomination before. Something must happen… right?” Cullen asked “You don’t think they could go unnoticed, that they could be among us right now?” The templar’s eyes warily flicked back and forth. 

“I’m sure that’s not the case. I doubt any abominations could slip past the Knight Commander.” Mithos reassured the nervous Templar.

“Yes. Surely a man as experienced and skilled as Gregoir couldn’t make a mistake like that,” Cullen said, calming.

“So, are you adjusting to the circle okay?” Mithos inquired. “You only got here a few weeks ago.”

“Well, it is a big change, I was prepared to deal with magic in training. But how do you really prepare for working with hundreds of mages, half of whom seem to hate you?” Cullen asked, looking at his feet.

“I just take it day by day and try to do the right thing, I think it’s all anyone really does here. Oh and don’t worry too much about Anders, he talks big, but he would never hurt anyone,” Mithos cocked his head, “well maybe he would put some spiders in your boots, so just shake them out.” Cullen looked horrified at this advice, he shook his head sadly. 

“I think it’s best I just trust in my teachings to guide me, the Maker would not steer me wrong.” Cullen said. Mithos gave him a slight nod.

“That you care means a lot, I’m certain the other mages will see that with time, maybe even the libertarians.” Mithos replied hopefully. Cullen gave a weak smile.

“I’ll let you go, I’m sure you have business to attend to.” He told the mage before stepping back

“Thank you Ser Cullen, good luck.” Mithos waved before resuming his trek. 

Proceeding through the second floor he passed a few tranquil. Keili was praying fervently in the chantry, but paused to tell Mithos she thought he was a good man and was sorry he survived his harrowing, at which he simply smiled awkwardly. He saw Senior Enchanter Sweeney lecturing Senior Enchanter Leorah about something whilst she conspicuously stood between him and the stockroom door. Then a most unexpected sight caught his eye.

Standing directly outside the door to the First Enchanter’s office was a dwarf. She stood rigidly next to the office’s door. The dwarf had shortly cut deep brown hair, refined and rounded features, and was dressed in simple linen trousers and a tunic. Her eyes seemed to be focusing on something far away. Mithos nearly ran over to her, unable to ignore this anomaly. 

“Excuse me, but are you from Orzammar?” He asked the dwarf, who started at his voice and turned towards him, he noticed an odd tattoo on her cheek. 

“I am.” She briskly replied. Mithos beamed.

“Wow, I never expected this, Senior Enchanter Sweeney always went on about how he was writing the King of Orzammar to get an enchanter to come here for a knowledge exchange with the Formari. Everyone always thought he was just making it up though.” The dwarf had started to quizzically scrunch her eyebrows and was about to reply when a voice called from within Irving’s office. 

“Mithos, is that you?” The elf immediately swiveled and moved towards the door.

“Sorry, I’m sure we can talk more later.” He apologized to the dwarf, who still looked rather befuddled.   
Irving’s office was always a familiar and welcoming space, the room filled with neatly stacked parchments and arcane texts, as well as a number of magical and enchanted oddities. 

What was truly unusual about the room today was the other human who stood in it. He looked to be around fifty and had sleek black hair peppered with grey and a neat beard, he didn’t seem to be wearing garb of a mage or Templar, but rather a grey and white set of armour. 

“First Enchanter.” Mithos greeted with some reverence. Irving gave him a slight smile. 

“It is good to see you well child, the harrowing is always a trying experience.” His croaking voice intoned.

“It was all thanks to yours and Senior Enchanter Wynne’s instruction.” The young man replied.

“The young man you mentioned in your letter, I take it this is he?” The stranger interjected. 

“Ah yes, this is Mithos Surana. Mithos, this man is Duncan, the Warden Commander of Ferelden.” Mithos stared wide eyed at Duncan, taking a moment to form a question.

“You’re a Grey Warden Serah?” He questioned, and a humored smirk appeared on Duncan’s face.

“I take it you’ve heard of us then?” The older man asked. The young mage nodded enthusiastically.

“There are dozens of books on your order here in the circle alone. I was just reading the other day about the reapplication of fire and earth based primal magic used by warden mages, which was able to create defensive fortifications in minutes during a Darkspawn attack in the Western Approach of Orlais during the Early Blessed Age.” He spat out quickly.   
“Your order is legendary for its skill!” He finished with excitement.

“Well, I am afraid stories can sometimes exaggerate these things. But I do appreciate your enthusiasm.” Duncan replied with a chuckle. 

“Mithos, I am sure you can quiz Duncan for details about his order _later_. Right now I am afraid that there is some ceremony we must stand on.” The First Enchanter rose from his seat with a slight groan and made his way over to his apprentice holding a bundle. 

“In recognition of your success in the harrowing Mithos Surana, I hereby formally induct you into the Circle of Ferelden, as per tradition your phylactery has been sent to Denerim. These are your new robes and staff, a mark of your station.” He handed the bundle to Mithos before rummaging through his pockets and withdrawing a small item.

“And this is a ring with the Circle’s insignia.” He pressed the ring into Mithos’ hand and met his eyes with a warm look. 

Mithos carefully slotted the ring onto his right hand’s ring finger before holding it to the light to admire the Formari craftsmanship and the subtle hum of lyrium moving through the item. His vision blurred slightly and with a start Mithos realized he had started to cry. He dashed his hand across his eyes before forsaking decorum and enveloping Irving in a hug. The old man gave a chuckle and returned the embrace.

“You have done well Son.” The First Enchanter whispered to him and he had to work hard on stopping the tears so as not to make a fool of himself in front of the Grey Warden. 

The next few minutes passed in a blur as he escorted Duncan and the dwarf (another warden, not an enchanter, he found out.), to the seldom used guest room of the tower and then proceeded to make his way to his new room to change his Robes. As he exited he found Jowan outside anxiously holding his left wrist. A worried pair of dark green eyes met his own light grey ones and he knew that trouble was on its way.  
\--#--  
It was madness. Absolute madness, he was helping Jowan escape the tower, to go live his life with some, _chantry girl_! He really needed to build an immunity to Jowan’s adorable pout. 

As they crawled through the cellars his mind wouldn’t calm, it kept throwing images of a dead eyed Jowan with a sunburst blooming from his forehead into Mithos’ thoughts. Each time he saw it he took deep breath and steadied himself, he couldn’t let that happen to Jowan. No matter how his heart ached when he thought of Jowan leaving. Or his eyes burned when he saw Jowan and Lily share a loving look. Or how his stomach turned when he thought of how much of a betrayal this was to the circle.  
“We’re nearly there, the phylactery chamber should just be down this hall.” Jowan called. His words stirred the air and in short order a pair of walking suits of armour emerged from the doorway at the end of the hall, and a ghostly image of a robed mage materialized behind them.

“Jowan, try to hold off the armoured ones, I’ll handle the mage.” Mithos commanded, Jowan nodded in assent before conjuring a cone of incandescent flames from his hands.   
Mithos wasn’t sure if the creatures felt pain (if they were possessed it might be possible, but he really wasn’t sure of their true origin), yet they seemed to possess some sense of self preservation and did not charge through Jowan’s flames. 

Mithos turned to the mage sentinel and hastily threw up an arcane barrier, the air took on a slight purple sheen before reverberating dangerously as a lightning bolt impacted upon the shield. He countered with a quickly summoned paralysis glyph which held the phantasm in place. 

Seeing an opening Lily ran forward and attacked the creature, the stabs with her dagger were clumsy and panicked but against an immobile opponent they were enough and soon the robed figure dissipated. 

The pair whipped around when a scream of pain rent the air.

“Jowan!” The answering cry echoed from two throats. 

One of the armoured guardians was melted into a pile of slag near the wall, yet the other towered over Jowan, who lay stricken on the floor, gasping for breath and holding his side. The creature raised its mace threatening to terminate the intruding mage.   
Mithos angled his staff towards it, an intense light gathered at its tip before shooting forth to impact noisily against the guardian. 

Lily sprinted to Jowan’s side and began to drag him away from the construct as it regained balance. It shortly began to move back towards the more vulnerable pair of humans. 

Mithos readied another spell, _no better time to put theory into practice_ he told himself. Tevene slipped easily from his lips as he drew on the entropic principles of energy confiscation and redistribution. Finishing the incantation he reached out with his free hand towards the sentinel, a phantom tugging sensation passed through his arm shortly before the construct simply fell apart and a surge of energy flowed into him.

“Jowan, love please speak to me.” Lily’s panicked voice rang in Mithos’ ears and the immediate danger of the situation returned. He ran back to the pair, Jowan’s head now cradled in Lily’s lap as he groaned weakly. 

Kneeling beside his stricken friend Mithos tentatively reached out with his magic, drawing a little strength from Empathy to identify Jowan’s injuries. 

He swallowed down dread and bile as he started to heal Jowan, a soft green light emanating from his hands, gentle energies mending shattered bones and stemming internal bleeding. 

After a few minutes of healing, Mithos deemed Jowan well enough to stand, which he did, albeit with some serious groaning and wincing.

“I’m sorry, it’ll probably be sore for a few days, and there’ll be some nasty bruising.” Mithos apologized. 

“It’s worse than that time Eadric practiced his stone fist spell on me.” Jowan whinged whilst hobbling towards the door to the phylactery chamber.

Upon entering the chamber a breath of chill enveloped them, Mithos noticed his own breath emerging in pale puffs of air. 

There were shelves all through the room with vials and bottles of blood sitting upon them. Mithos saw Jowan move forward, no longer limping and cleanly striding to a shelf towards the back. He picked up a particular vial and gazed into it intently. Mithos and Lily rushed to stand beside him.

“I can’t believe this tiny vial stands between me and freedom.” Jowan murmured 

“So fragile, so easy to be rid of it…. To end its hold over me.” With a shuddering breath he dropped the vial to shatter upon the ground, sixteen year old blood soaking into the pavers.

“And I am free.” He breathed. 

Mithos shifted uneasily.

“Jowan… we should get out of here” Mithos told his friend, tugging on his sleeve. With a start the human whirled to face him with an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, I got a little caught up in the moment…” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

“Let’s just get out of here, then we can start our new life.” Lily said, she and Jowan then shared a look that made Mithos choke up a little, and caused him to take the lead towards the exit.  
\--#--  
The group emerged from the basement into the circle tower, the large room completely empty. Mithos breathed a deep sigh before being enveloped in a crushing hug.

“I can’t believe it! We did it!” Jowan crowed, before pulling away. Mithos felt inordinate amounts of blood rushing to his face and ears. 

“Thank you, Mithos… without you we-”

“So what you said was true, Irving.” Jowan, Lily and Mithos all froze at the Knight Commander’s dour voice. The grim faced commander entered with several Templars and the first enchanter in tow.

“Please, Knight Commander… Ir-First Enchanter, this… this isn’t” Mithos could barely force out his words.

“Gregoir,” Lily breathed and slumped slightly, a shimmer of tears at the corners of her eyes.

“An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I’m disappointed Lily.” Gregoir drawled, he moved to examine her closely. “She seems shocked but fully in control… Not a thrall of the blood mage then.” He turned to the first enchanter. “You were right Irving, the initiate has betrayed us. The chantry won’t let this go unpunished.” He cast his steely gaze at Mithos. “And this one, barely a mage and already flouting the circle’s rules!”

“Mithos… I am disappointed, I thought you knew better…” Irving admonished, sounding so much older than ever before. Mithos’ throat constricted and his world closed in and blurred. He was dimly aware of Jowan ranting and Gregoir delivering his sentence. 

The world only refocused when he felt a sickening surge of power next to him, lashing tendrils of blood hummed and flowed around Jowan, stemming from a gash in his hand. 

Jowan threw his hands outwards and a shockwave knocked over the Templars and first enchanter. 

Mithos unconsciously stepped back from Jowan, shaking violently. He could see Lily mirror his action out of the corner of his eye. 

“By the Maker… Blood Magic! H-how could you? You said you never…” The young woman’s voice shook.

“I- I admit I dabbled… I thought it’d make me a better mage.” Jowan defended weakly.

“Blood magic is evil, Jowan. It corrupts people… changes them…” She forced out, a definite hitch in her gentle voice. Jowan tried to take hold of her hands, causing her to flinch back.

“I’m going to give it up. All magic. I just want to be with you Lily. Please, come with me… “ He desperately implored

“I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you… I… I don’t know who you are blood mage. Stay away from me.” Jowan shuddered, and turned to Mithos.

“Jowan… I believed you.” He shook his head, and moved towards the First Enchanter’s prone form. 

As he started to treat Irving’s injuries Mithos heard a set of retreating footsteps. _No don’t focus on Jowan_ he told himself. _The First Enchanter needs you, you can still help, make some amends._. The soothing light of his healing magic blossomed forth and he could almost feel Empathy beside him, weeping. Irving’s eyes eventually started to open and Mithos breathed a sigh of relief.

“First Enchanter, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, he was so scared and I ju-” The elf’s pleas turned into an inarticulate scream as he felt every vein catch fire, he toppled over and curled up involuntarily as if a spike had been driven into his cranium. Words slipped in one pointed ear and out the other.

“WHY SMI-”

“Attacking you! Wi-”

“-and of tran-”

“Wardens.” 

Vague notions fluttered through his mind as he struggled to refocus, as the fire died down and the throbbing in his head abated.

He felt a strong pair of hands latch onto his arms and help him to his feet. He found himself staring into the face of the bearded warden, Duncan.

“Mithos, can your hear me?” The human snapped his fingers in front of Mithos’ face a few times, and the young mage blinked rapidly.

“I… can hear you… Grey Warden” His voice sounded oddly muffled in his own ears. Duncan gave him a sad smile.

“I’m going to need you to come with me, young man.” _that doesn’t make sense_ he thought.

“What… about the circle?” The mage questioned.

“I’m afraid you can’t stay. I have invoked the right of conscription to protect you from Gregoir.” Mithos shook his head, the clouds finally clearing a bit.

“But… the First Enchanter?” He questioned.

“Irving argued on your behalf, but I am afraid he cannot overrule the Knight Commander. I need you to gather your belongings, we will leave shortly.” With that Duncan lead Mithos towards the apprentice dormitories where most of his personal possessions still lay.   
\--#--  
Skala watched the new recruit, - anything to distract from the rocking of the small boat they were being rowed across the lake on-. The elf’s wide, pale grey eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed and his shoulder length bright blonde hair whipped about in the wind, forming knots and tangles. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of the shrinking tower that they rowed away from.  
“It’s so big out here,” He murmured hollowly. “Have you ever felt like your home is running away from you?” He grasped tightly on the meagre bag of belongings, clutching it to his chest. Skala laid her hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.


	3. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan begins the journey to Highever with his two recruits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for taking so long to update, and a big thanks for everyone who stuck around for it. I went away for a few weeks over New Years and was unable to write anything at all, and then I got distracted by another fic I am writing, hehe. The good news is that I have a good chunk of chapter 4 written so hopefully y'all shouldn't have to wait too long for it. Anywho enjoy.

It was not strictly necessary to head to Highever, Duncan could privately admit. However with the calling creeping upon him he thought it best to make the most of what might be his last recruiting journey. Teryn Cousland had also suggested he had several men in his employ whom he believed to be worthy.

Emerging into the common room of The Spoiled Princess whilst tugging on one of his gloves, the Warden Commander was pleasantly surprised to see that both of the recruits he’d picked up were already awake and dressed, packs lying next to the table they were occupying. 

Mithos hurriedly rose and tried to do a clumsy approximation of a salute, Skala simply met his eye and gave a small nod of recognition.

“Warden Commander!” Mithos said

“Duncan.” Skala called at the same time. Duncan chuckled at the mage’s earnestness and casually waved his hand at him.

“There’s no need for that Mithos, I am not terribly fond of standing on ceremony.” He informed the elf, who looked slightly abashed.

“Sorry, Sir. I did get you some breakfast from the innkeeper though.” Mithos indicated a plate set at the table, piled high with bacon, sausages, toast and fried eggs. 

“Thank you for that.” Duncan replied as he sat to eat. His ravenous warden appetite goaded him onwards to enjoy what would likely be the last good meal for some days. 

Throughout his meal Duncan was repeatedly quizzed by Mithos as to the nature of their journey to Highever, what roads they would take and what supplies would be appropriate to prepare. His answers were generally succinct and straightforward with Skala interjecting her opinion occasionally.

He did notice that each time Aeducan spoke, a dwarven woman who was sweeping the floors would quickly take a moment to look at her. 

“Skala, do you happen to know that barmaid?” He inquired, eyes discreetly flickering to the woman in question, who now had her back turned. Skala shook her head sharply.

“It’s the brand, when I first came down here she gawked at me for a few seconds.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess she isn’t surface-born”

“Oh the casteless brand, that’s. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that’s what that was.” Mithos apologized.

“And what would you have done differently had you known?” Skala asked, one brow raised.

“I don’t know, but I shouldn’t have stared at it when we first met in the tower.” His voice hitched slightly on the last word and he looked down. 

“Just don’t bring it up.” She replied with a sigh.   
Duncan frowned slightly, she hadn’t opened up yet about what had happened before she was exiled. If Skala couldn’t become more open with her fellow wardens she would struggle in a position of command. Wardens weren’t like armies, they needed to be able to trust each other. 

“Yes, you’re right, sorry.” Mithos apologized, Skala gave him a slight nod. The mage sat fidgeting for a moment before turning to Duncan. 

“Warden Commander, may I have permission to gather my last few belongings from the room?” he asked, standing hurriedly. 

“Ah yes, of course you may.”   
Mithos nodded in understanding before making his way to the room. 

“What are your thoughts on young Mithos, Skala?” Duncan asked, after the room door clicked shut. She furrowed her brow for a moment before responding. 

“He’s polite and obedient enough, but are you sure he’s cut out for the Wardens?” Duncan raised a brow. “I simply mean, he seems a bit… unconfident, doubt like that’ll get you killed quickly on the battlefield.” She elaborated. Duncan gave a slight nod of concession. 

“Perhaps, but Irving did speak highly of his abilities as a mage, and he was part of a nearly successful escape from Kinloch hold, which is no mean feat.” The commander defended. “He also had the selflessness to risk his life and being for another, and a Warden must be selfless.”

“He was tricked and betrayed.” Skala muttered. Duncan noticed her knuckles wrapped around her mug rapidly whitening. _Interesting_. “What would they have done to him if you hadn’t conscripted him?” She questioned quietly.

“I am not wholly familiar with the Circle’s disciplinary system. But it seemed Gregoir was suggesting the brand of tranquility might be used to set a precedent.” Duncan responded. 

“Brand of Tranquility?” Skala tilted her head slightly, inviting elaboration.

“Do you recall those mages who worked in the stockroom? That spoke with flat voices and had a sunburst on their foreheads.” Skala gave a brief nod of confirmation. “That is the effect of the brand, it strips the recipient of their magic and causes them to lose the ability to feel any emotion.” He explained.

“By the stone.” She breathed, before quickly recollecting herself. “So your recruiting him was an act of mercy then?” 

“Not purely, the life of a Grey Warden is not easy. But once you meet the others you will see that many were recruited through ‘acts of mercy’ as you put it.” He indicated towards her. “Yourself included.” He finished.

“And was your recruitment an ‘act of mercy’ as well?”   
Duncan gave her an inscrutable smirk in response, and Skala narrowed her gaze.

“He seemed so distraught over leaving. But they were ready to destroy his mind.” She shook her head “I don’t understand.”

“Orzammar was not kind to you in the end, were you happy to leave?” Duncan countered. 

“There was nothing left for me there.” She sighed, fingers unconsciously touching her cheek.

 _There’s something more to what that, more than the brand_.

“What do you mean by tha-”

“Commander I am ready to leave whenever you need me to,” Mithos called. Duncan turned to the mage. He was standing by the door to the room they’d rented. 

Well organized and a punctual early riser, useful habits to already possess upon recruitment. Duncan couldn’t remember why the Wardens didn’t recruit from the Circles more often.

\--#--

Duncan remembered why they didn’t recruit from the circle more often. He stopped his march sharply and Skala easily fell into place beside him. Heavy breathing and slight wheezing alerted him to Mithos catching up and stopping beside him. The mage doubled over, sucking in great breaths of air for a few moments before taking a lengthy draught from his waterskin. His hair was sweat-soaked and stuck to his forehead and neck. It only took three hours of travel for him to get so exhausted.

“Sorry… Commander… I just need…. A minute… To catch my breath.” He haltingly wheezed out. Skala gave him a look that seemed a mix of pity, disappointment and annoyance. 

After a few minutes Mithos’ breath evened out and he managed to straighten himself up, straining under the weight of his pack as he did so. 

“How many days will it take for us to reach Highever Commander?” Mithos questioned.

“Likely ten is my guess.” Although Duncan decidedly left out that at a standard warden pace that he and Skala had been managing the trip would take just under a week. A brief look of terror flashed over Mithos’ face and Duncan had trouble holding in a chuckle at the reaction. 

“Try not to worry too much, the first day is the hardest.” He consoled the lad.

“U-understood C-commander.” He acknowledged, struggling to trudge along behind the other two once again.   
_At least this sort of travel should be easier for him after the joining._.  
\--#--  
Duncan called a stop to the day’s march in the late afternoon, taking Mithos and Skala a little ways off the side of the Imperial Highway. Bugs buzzed in the twilight air and the temperature had begun rapidly dropping as night approached. They stopped beside a copse of trees which could screen their campsite and provide fresh firewood. 

As soon as he called a stop to the march Duncan saw Mithos gratefully drop his pack. Moments later the mage’s hands lit with a gentle green glow, he pressed them, muttering, to the back of his legs. Closing his eyes and whispering to himself he eventually stood more steadily, afterwards he moved his hands to his back and repeated the process. 

Skala meanwhile had started cleaning a small area of land for her tent, then laid down the ground tarp precisely on top of it before proceeding to the rest of her tent. Her meticulousness belying her inexperience, having never assembled a tent before being recruited. 

Mithos began withdrawing the components for assembling his tent from his pack, carefully peering at each in turn, then swiveling his head towards Skala in order to examine how she was working, and finally trying to mimic her actions. Duncan made his way over to the young elf, covering grassy terrain with even strides. 

“Would you care for a hand there friend?” He offered the recruit. 

“Thank you, Commander, I would appreciate it,” Mithos replied, handing Duncan a mallet whilst trying to smooth out the ground tarp of his own tent. The sharp tapping of Skala’s hammer on wooden tent pegs filled the air as the two men started to assemble the second tent.

“I imagine it must be a bit of a change, going from the Circle Tower to camping in the outdoors,” Duncan said, looping a rope around a tent peg.

“It really is. I wonder if it’ll rain anytime soon? I am a little worried, it would probably make travel difficult,” Mithos commented, worry edging into his tone.

“It probably would,” Duncan chuckled, “Skala had the same concern, although it’s not truly so terrible as you two would think it.” A particularly sharp tap on a peg echoed from where Skala was erecting her tent. 

“Well, I guess I’m not really very good at all this.” Mithos waved his hand to gesture to the world around the trees around them.

“You are not the worst I’ve taught. You at least know what constitutes a tent.” He consoled. “Did you ever spend time camping before you went to the circle?”

Mithos stopped arranging poles for a moment. “I did, actually. Well my big sister Lil and I sometimes slept out under the…” He stopped again “The big tree in the alienage, I can’t remember its name. During some of the hotter summer nights, a lot of the kids did, we’d erect little shelters to keep off the light summer rain.” He stared into space for a moment.

“Anyway that was over a decade ago, so I don’t really remember too much. Although when I was younger some of the other apprentices and I would make blanket forts in the tower.” He gave a light laugh. “We always wanted to keep them up but the tranquil would end up taking them down if we didn’t.” 

“You are from an alienage then?” Duncan probed. He noticed that the sounds of Skala’s tent assembly had dissipated. 

“I am from The Circle.” Mithos replied, fiddling with the ring he wore on his right hand. “Although, I don’t suppose I can really go back there now, can I?” He asked, quietly, as if to himself.

“You need not be so sure. Grey Wardens travel all over, the day may come when you will need to return to the circle.” He cautioned the young mage. It was quite likely he would need to. Sending someone already familiar with The Circle’s systems on any warden business would be useful.

“I betrayed them all…” The young mage trailed off.

“Do you regret what you did?” Duncan asked.

“No… yes… no.” Mithos heaved a sigh “I wish I did, but even knowing what he did, that he’s a maleficar. I might do it again.” He shook his head sadly. “Blood magic destroyed him, if he hadn’t have used it then maybe... He thought it’d make him a better mage, stronger I guess. The First Enchanter once told me that blood magic has no respect for life, I think I see what he meant by that.” Mithos murmured as he straightened up the wrinkles in the tent’s canvas.

Duncan chose to hold his tongue at this point.He worried that such strong bias against blood magic might make the joining difficult. Not to mention working with other warden mages who might employ blood magic themselves. 

In short order the two finished erecting Mithos’ tent and Duncan was thanked graciously for the assistance in the matter. After Mithos turned to begin unloading his pack Duncan made his way over to a space opposite the two assembled tents in which he could erect his own. With deft and easy movements he managed to do so in a matter of minutes, the skill honed by years of practice. As he set up his sleeping place he wondered whether he would have a peaceful rest. The song was growing louder and clear nights becoming fewer and fewer, which sadly could not be wholly attributed to the Blight.

Skala, Daveth, Mithos, Jory. He could only hope that such recruits could become great Wardens, the kind that will be needed to replace him when he’s gone.


	4. Fletcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The younger son of Teryn Bryce Cousland faces the prospect of being overlooked for the war effort, and is none too pleased about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for taking so long (I seem to be saying that every chapter). This time some rather sad personal business came up, and delayed me in getting around to the editing of this chapter. But here it is at last! Also the Human Noble origin covers a lot, and I want to get a proper feel for Fletcher's character, so this origin will be split in two.

Fletcher meandered his way to the great hall, feet dragging every step of the way. He honestly couldn’t fathom why his Father had called on him to meet with Arl Howe. Sure the man was an old friend of the family but Father had made it quite clear over the past few weeks that Fletcher _wouldn’t_ be allowed to march south with the soldiers. No matter how many times he asked. 

Upon reaching the side door Fletcher casually waved for one of the guards to open the door, which swung easily on its well-oiled hinges. His father and Howe stood together bedecked in finery and joking about the stink of Orlesians. It was an effort to stop the good joke from improving his gloomy mood. He loudly coughed to gain his father’s attention.

“I’m sorry pup; I didn’t see you there.” Bryce turned back to Howe and Fletcher rolled his eyes at the embarrassing nickname. “Howe, you remember my son?”

“I see he’s grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad.” The Arl simpered. Fletcher preened slightly at the compliment.

“And you, Arl Howe.” He dutifully replied. _‘A bad mood is no reason to ignore decorum.’ As mother would say._ he thought.

“My daughter Delilah asked after you.” Howe gave a cheeky smile “Perhaps I should bring her next time.” Fletcher reflected back on the last time he met Delilah Howe, she was very comely as he recalled.

“I’d like that.” He replied with a smirk of his own.

“Good! She’s talked about you ever since she saw you at a fair in Denerim.” Howe declared loudly before leaning in to whisper “I think you have an admirer, young man.”

“At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason.” His Father interrupted and Fletcher felt his mood darken again. “While your brother and I are away, I’m leaving you in charge of the castle.” 

Fletcher was slightly taken aback. He still felt slighted in his obvious combat skills being ignored, but he was being given control of the castle. A serious honor and responsibility. His brain tried to reconcile this new information and he floundered for a moment.

“I uh, what would be… involved in this, Father?” He eventually spat out.

“Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?” His father much more eloquently replied.

“I’m sure my skills are more than enough to drive off any bandits or thugs.” Fletcher claimed, regaining his verbal footing, and making a last subtle bid to try and go south. (Honour or no, he still wanted to be involved in the battle.) Judging by the skeptical look his father gave he was unmoved.

“There is also someone you must meet.” Bryce declared. “Please, show Duncan in.” he commanded to one of the guards at the other side door.

The door slid open revealing a man who looked to be in his early fifties, his neat beard and pulled back dark hair peppered with grey, and his tanned skin showing wear of aging. Fletcher’s keen eyes picked out mud stains on his clothes, obviously the man had recently been travelling. Half a step behind him followed an armored Dwarf woman with short cut brown hair, a bizarre tattoo on her cheek and a stern look on her face. The pair stopped in the centre of the room. 

“It is an honour to be a guest in your hall Teryn Cousland.” The man thanked. 

“It is a pleasure to have you Duncan.” The Teryn said with a smile before looking at the dwarf. “And who might you be?” He lightly asked.

“I am Skala. A warden recruit.” She succinctly replied. 

“I have another recruit with me as well, I sent him ahead to help move our belongings into the rooms you have pro-” 

“Your Lordship. You didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present.” Howe interrupted, unconsciously taking half a step back. Fletcher couldn’t blame him, there were enough legends of Grey Wardens to fill half a library and even he felt a bit overwhelmed. 

“Duncan just arrived recently, and quietly. He’s not a man for fanfare. Is there a problem?” Fletcher stifled a laugh at Howe’s clear discomfort, glad to see someone else being caught out by Father for lack of manners. Howe muttered a hasty apology at his rudeness in return.

“I trust you remember who the Grey Wardens are from Brother Aldous’ lessons, pup?” The Teryn prompted Fletcher.

“Of course, they’re the legendary warriors who have stopped four blights.” His father gave a nod of approval at Fletcher’s explanation.

“I am gathering recruits before heading south.” Duncan said. “I believe you mentioned that you had some here at the castle whom you believed well suited, your Lordship.”

“Ah yes, I recommend Ser Gilmore, he is a strong warrior and a steadfast man.” Fletcher rankled as he was conveniently overlooked by his father.

“I would also recommend myself Ser Duncan.” Fletcher started, his father shot him a glare but he powered on. “I am an incredible shot with my bow, I haven’t lost in a tourney in three years.” He easily bragged. The Grey Warden scrutinized him whilst stroking his beard.

“No, Fletcher. I will not allow it.” His father sternly commanded. “I do not wish to see all my children off to battle, honour though it might be. I hope you will not force the issue, Duncan.” He apologized to the Warden more softly. Fletcher clenched his fists at his side. 

“Do not worry Teryn. I am in need of good recruits but I will not force the issue.” Duncan’s words seemed to appease Bryce slightly, and he calmed a little.

“Pup, I need you to do the task I entrusted you with, and that includes seeing Duncan’s needs are met, are you capable of that?” Frustration edged the Teryn’s voice.

“Don’t strain my abilities or anything.” Fletcher replied, rolling his eyes. 

“And don’t strain my patience.” Bryce shot back. Fletcher then found himself shooed off, away from the Warden to go and tell Fergus to lead the troops to Ostagar. With a huff he stomped out of the hall to go and find his brother. 

_Well Fergus will obviously be in his quarters enjoying his last day with Oriana, but I could hardly be blamed for being late to find him, he could be anywhere really_. So Fletcher headed out of the hall and away from the Family quarters, feeling quite pleased by his own cleverness in the face of his Father’s demands.

Of course after rounding the first corner in his ‘search’ for Fergus he ran into the _oh-so-great_ Ser Gilmore, good enough for the Grey Wardens.

“There you are My Lord. Your mother said the Teryn had summoned you and I didn’t want to interrupt.” The Knight apologized.

“What do you want Ser Gilmore.” Fletcher groaned with a roll of his eyes.

“Um, pardon my manners I have simply been looking all over for you.” Gilmore said. Shifting uneasily under Fletcher’s annoyed gaze. “It seems your hound has gotten into the larder again, the kitchen’s in an uproar and Nan is threatening to leave.”

“Uurgh, she does this every time. Mack’s not that big an issue.” _Honestly, he’s one dog, and a huge softie of a hound at that_.

“Be that as it may, your mother requested you resolve this. After all he might be a sweet thing to you but Mabari hounds are less friendly to those who aren’t their masters.” Gilmore replied, a slight smirk twisting his mouth.

“Fine, let’s go.” Fletcher sighed, resigning himself to having to get his hound with the help of the great Ser Gilmore and his perfect nose.

“Might I ask you something My Lord?” Gilmore queried, falling into step with Fletcher, who simply grunted in response. “I’ve heard from several people that there are Grey Wardens here. Is it true?”

“Yep.” Fletcher said, popping the ‘P’ sound loudly as they continued. “And aren’t you lucky? the leader is looking for you, Gilmore.” Fletcher sarcastically said. “Of course, I’m not even considered.” He muttered afterwards.

“Ahh, I see. Still My Lord you should not be too disappointed, they say that once you join the Grey Wardens your old life is over. You have a family and future here, don’t be too quick to give it up.” Gilmore lectured. “Still the appeal is there, Maker’s Breath! Being a Grey Warden! What an honour.” He whispered to himself, presumably believing Fletcher couldn’t hear him.

Fletcher huffed, determinedly ignoring the knight. As he walked towards the kitchens, and the pervasive sound of Nan’s wailing and Mack’s barking.

Entering into the heat of the kitchen the two men saw Nan lecturing a pair of elves.

“Get that bloody mutt out of my larder!” She demanded, with a stomp of her shoe causing a loud clack to echo through the kitchen.

“But mistress, it won’t let us near.” Pleaded one of the elves shrinking away from the wrathful woman.

“If I can’t get into that larder. I’ll skin both you useless elves, I swear it.” She threatened. 

“Calm down good woman, we’ve come to help.” Gilmore interjected. Nan whirled on the pair of men, fire in her eyes.

“You! And you!” She jabbed Fletcher in the chest, eliciting a scowl. “Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!”.

“Perhaps you should lock your larder tighter.” He sneered. _Really, keeping one dog out shouldn’t be that hard_.

“If I locked it any tighter we couldn’t get in!” She defended. “Argh, you two get out of the way, let them deal with the damn hound!” She shooed the elves away from the door, they readily fled.

Of course Mack had not broken into the larder for no good reason, and had come to wipe out an infestation of giant rats, which Gilmore and Fletcher got caught up in. _Giant rats from the bloody wilds._ Fletcher grumbled to himself as he stabbed one of the vermin between the eyes with a dagger. _And now I get rat brains all over my new dagger, what a perfect day!_ He decided he’d get some of the elves to clean it, they should be keeping pests out of the castle anyway.

After the rats were cleaned out Mack was rewarded with some pork bits, and Fletcher was rewarded by the wonderful warden-worthy Ser Gilmore leaving. As he left the kitchen Fletcher picked up a snatch of conversation between the servants.

“I’m telling you, one of the wardens is an elf! I helped him find their room just half an hour ago!” one exclaimed. 

“Wow, so elves can join, can you imagine going back to the alienage as a warden? The Hahren would lose his mind.” The other responded, prompting a burst of laughter from the duo. 

“So some elf is good enough for the wardens but I’m not.” Fletcher mumbled to himself as he stormed towards the family quarters.

Before arriving there he ran into a party of his mother, Lady Landra (who he uncomfortably remembered flirting with him during one of his mother’s salons), her son Dairren and a very lovely elf who Landra introduced as her Lady in Waiting of all things. Fortunately the elf, Iona seemed rather charmed by Fletcher, and seemed happy to spend some more time together. _Maybe this day can turn around after all_ he reflected. 

Steps feeling slightly lighter he made his way to the study where he had promised to meet Iona. Entering into dusty old Aldous’ domain he was met with a bizarre sight. Aldous, a pair of young squires and Dairren were clustered around a robed elf with unnerving pale grey eyes and bright blond hair that fell to his shoulders. The elf was concentrating fiercely on a bunch of grapes he held in his hands and the other four looked a mix of fascinated and fearful. 

“So by conjuring and combining overlaying glyphs of primal flames and entropic decay,” the elf said as two glowing, patterned rings appeared in his hands. “I can accelerate the drying process, turning a week’s worth of work into a moment’s!” The elf muttered something quietly and a puff of steam emerged from the grapes, which in seconds shriveled into raisins.

“Astounding!” Aldous muttered to himself.

“Go on, try some. The theory took months, but they’re safe to eat.” The elf held out the raisins towards the two squires, one tentatively reached for the shriveled fruit before the other slapped his hand away.

“Don’t eat magic food! You might catch it!” He warned. The other squire’s eyes widened and a hurt look passed over the elf’s face.

“Boys, don’t be so rude. The warden offered you a gift!” Aldous admonished. 

_Warden? So that’s the other recruit Duncan mentioned. I guess all it takes to get into the Wardens is the ability to dry fruit._ Fletcher bitterly reflected. 

“Aldous, I was looking for an Elven woman, Iona, do you know where she is?” Fletcher called to the old scholar. 

“Oh, young master Fletcher, what a surprise. How do you fare today?” He asked.

“I’ve… been better.” Fletcher mumbled.

“Oh yes, the business of the war weighs heavily on us all.” The old man said, slowly nodding his head.

“Yeah… so I was looking for Iona.” Fletcher repeated.

“Are you sure you would not like to stay here My Lord? Warden Surana here has agreed to display some magic for us, it is an uncommon opportunity to watch a mage work up close.” Aldous suggested, a slight shine lighting his normally dull, tired eyes. “I was in the middle of the boys’ history lesson, but young Walter here,” He indicated the boy who had reached for the raisins “Claims interest in joining the Templars one day, and so I thought it a good opportunity for him to see what magic is like.” 

“As _fascinating_ as that sounds, I am in a bit of a rush Aldous.” Fletcher replied, crossing his arms. 

Aldous frowned before sighing despairingly and indicating the door to the private study.   
“I believe I saw the young lady head in there.” 

Fletcher nodded before making his way into the side room. A few sweet nothings and declarations of her beauty later the radiant elf readily agreed to be the young lord’s bedmate for the evening. Feeling quite pleased with himself Fletcher left the blushing woman to her admiration of the castle. _I should probably go and let Fergus know he’s needed._

As he proceeded to the family quarters he heard his nephew’s voice echoing down through the antechamber.  
“Is there really going to be a war Papa? Will you bring me back a sward?” A chuckle followed this question.

“That’s ‘sword’, Oren and I’ll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I wish victory was indeed so certain, my heart is, disquiet…” Oriana’s worried tones responded to Fergus’ self-assured claims. 

Fletcher entered the room to see Fergus placing a tender hand on Oriana’s shoulders, eyes staring deeply into hers. 

“No need to worry Oriana, no darkspawn is gonna kill this big lunk.” Fletcher claimed, giving Fergus a hearty slap on the back. “They’d probably run from his awful face too, I don’t know how you stand him gyahh!” Fletcher shrieked as he received a sharp kick to the ankle from Oren.

“Don’t be mean to Papa, Uncle. Mama says it’s not good to be mean.” Oren said with a pout. 

“Alright, alright, I surrender.” Fletcher said holding his hands up in contrition. “Should have known your kid would go for the low blows, you teach him that?” Fletcher muttered to Fergus who gave a resounding laugh whilst Oriana scolded their son for kicking.

“Anyway Fergus,” Fletcher started, stretching the pain from his ankle. “Father said you need to go ahead of him. He needs your enormous hide to lead the troops while we stay here.” Fergus raised an eyebrow at the tone.

“Yes brother, I know you want to come too, honestly it’d be good to have you there. With your bow you might kill one or two darkspawn, and lighten my load a little.” Fergus jested.

“Oh _ha ha ha_ I’m sure you might even kill one if you can put your helmet on straight.” Fletcher snapped back.

“Surely your father would not put both his heirs in danger.” Oriana interjected in their squabble. 

“Well that’s what he claims at least. Still he’s not leaving until tomorrow so I might still be able to change his mind.” Fletcher responded.

“Ah well, I’d best get underway leading out the troops then.” Fergus said “So many darkspawn to behead, so little time.” Oren giggled at his father’s joke, Fletcher thought only a child would at that attempt at comedy. 

Fletcher turned away as he saw Fergus go to deeply kiss his wife, slipping a hand over Oren’s eyes. “Hey, what’s going on, Uncle! Let me see!” The boy complained.

“Trust me kiddo, you don’t want to.” Fletcher cautioned.

“I shall see you soon, my love.” He heard Fergus whisper to his wife.

“I shall count the days until your return.” Came the soft reply.

_Get a room._

“I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave.” Teryn Cousland said, as he entered the room.

 _What was the point of asking me to deliver a message when you’d come yourself?_ Fletcher inwardly grouched. Meanwhile their mother moved to sweep Fergus into an embrace.

“Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day you are gone.” She said, her voice far less controlled and even than normal.

“Yeah, sure, you big dope, come back safely and all that.” Fletcher added, rubbing the back of his head and looking away.

“I keep telling you mother, no darkspawn will ever best me.” Fergus boasted. 

“Only so long as the maker wills it, my love, and I pray he will keep you safe during these trials.” Oriana countered.

“And may he bring us some good ale. And lovely wenches for the men.” Oriana gave an affronted scoff, which turned to a laugh as Fergus whispered something in her ear. 

“Fergus, you’d say things like that in front of your mother?” she chortled, slapping him on the arm.

“What’s a wench, is that what you pull on to get a bucket out of a well?” Oren asked, with wide eyed innocence. The ridiculousness of the question forced Fletcher to double over in laughter.

“A wench is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern Oren, or a woman who drinks a lot of ale.” Bryce responded. Fletcher just laughed even harder whilst Eleanor bemoaned the state of the Cousland men.

“I’ll miss you, mother dear. You’ll take care of her, brother, won’t you?” Fergus asked.

“Yeah… sure… she’ll be fine.” Fletcher replied, biting back further laughter. He noticed his mother rolling her eyes.

“Yes, yes, enough.” Bryce declared. “You’ll want to get an early night Pup, you’ll have much to do tomorrow.” Fletcher scoffed at his father’s suggestion but decided to retire to his chambers early anyway. After all he had a nice surprise waiting for him later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Fletcher is an entitled prick. I am aware, it leaves room to grow.


	5. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One lord betrays another in a grasp for power, many lives are lost, but a few are saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my, remember when I said I would update once a week? Well either way I am doing my honours thesis now, but I will still try to update when I can. If you enjoy please leave a comment, reader feedback gives me life force.

Fletcher slept easily, wrapped around Iona’s warm body, the pair of them utterly spent from the night’s earlier activities. Until he was dragged out of the blissful warmth by Mack raising a ruckus, barking furiously at the door to the bedroom. Fletcher tried his best to ignore the dog. _He probably just heard Oren going to the privy and woke up or something._ He reflected drowsily. 

Unfortunately for the young Cousland his efforts at ignoring his clamouring hound were for naught as Iona disentangled herself from him to kneel by the dog. Fletcher half sat up in bed, eyes blurry with sleep clinging to them. He could see clear discomfort writ across the elven woman’s face.

“Your hound is making so much noise! He seems so angry.” She said to Fletcher. 

“ ‘s probably nothing, come back to bed, he’ll calm down in a minute.” Fletcher slurred back, beckoning the woman. She looked thoroughly unconvinced, her expression bordering on panic. 

“But listen to the barking! Can’t you make him stop?” She shot back, voice growing to a yell. 

Mack’s barking grew only louder, Fletcher finally shaking off sleep sat up a bit more. He noticed he could hear other sounds coming from outside the room. Running feet, shouting, and a scream.

“I’m going to see if there’s someone in the hall…” Iona trailed off and made to rise.

“Iona, I don’t think that’s a good-“ 

Fletcher’s warning was cut off by an armored man kicking down the door to his room. An arrow quickly sprouted from Iona’s chest and she fell back with a shriek. Fletcher found himself frozen, naked save for his smallclothes, staring down two armored men, wearing the sigil of Arl Howe. 

The archer who shot Iona, knocked another arrow and Fletcher’s eyes darted to her. She was twitching on the ground, blood welling from an arrow spouting from the right side of her chest, staining her sides and shoulders. _Maker that’s a lot of blood_ the thought crossed the young Lord’s mind, which then screamed at him to move. Yet he found himself frozen as death came for him.

A moment later and both the soldiers found themselves frozen too. Cages of light sprung up around the pair, holding them both in place. Fletcher saw the archer’s eyes widen moments before dimming, as a shining blade plunged into his side. In a split second Mack charged and leapt at the jugular of the other soldier, a spray of blood emerging as his immobile throat was ripped out. 

The dwarf that Fletcher saw arrive with the Grey Warden earlier warily entered his room. She was clad in an odd mishmash of armour, yet looked all the more formidable for it. Her eyes scanned the room and rested on Iona.

“Mithos! There’s a wounded woman in here.” She shouted towards the hall.

The fruit drying elf scurried in after her, hand gripped tightly around a metal staff. His already wide eyes bulged as he took in Iona’s dying form and he rushed over to her. Fletcher started to watch as the elf’s hand glowed whilst he reached for the arrow shaft.

A cold iron hand landed on his shoulder and he swung his head to the dwarf now standing beside him.

“Lord Cousland, you’re lucky we got here in time. Duncan asked Mithos and I to come and retrieve you.” Fletcher still felt a bit dazed, the dwarf narrowed her eyes at him. “First time seeing real combat?” Fletcher gave a jerky nod. “Take a minute, we can’t wait long, but Mithos is busy healing your lover. Try getting dressed, doing something mundane can take the edge off.”

“Yeah, yeah, right…” He trailed off, embarrassed to realise he couldn’t remember her name.

“I’m Skala.” She stated, sensing his hesitation. “Now get ready, we need to get you out of here.” She clapped Fletcher on the back and he made his way to the wardrobe, with shaking hands he got dressed and donned some leather armour. As he did so he heard Iona weeping with relief and profusely thanking the Wardens for saving her. 

As they exited the Fletcher’s room, his mother came running, clad in her own armour and carrying a bow that matched Fletcher’s in design.  
“Darling! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst!” She took a minute, looking at the corpses on ground, the blood still wet on Iona’s shoulders and discolouring her dress. Eleanor ran to Fletcher and gripped his shoulders, turning him and searching for injury.  
“Are you hurt, did they get you anywhere!?” She panicked, looking him over.

At the extreme reaction Fletcher couldn’t help a laugh escaping him unwillingly in reaction, the last of his earlier shock draining.   
“I’m fine Mother.” He consoled.

“Did you see their shields?” She pointed to one of the bodies. “Those are Howe’s men. Why would he betray us!?”

“Duncan fears that Lord Howe may be making a power grab, ambitious men often try to make the most of a crisis like the blight. He told Mithos and I to try and save you.” Skala interjected.

“We managed to arrive just in time to help your son and Iona.” Mithos added.

“Then, I have you to thank for my son’s life?” She bowed towards the two wardens, one of whom shifted uncomfortably, and the other gave a nod of thanks. “I will not forget this debt, the Couslands will see the Grey Wardens repaid.” Fletcher rankled slightly at the thought he couldn’t have defended himself, but was ashamed to realise it was probably true. 

“Have you seen your Father, Fletcher? He never came to bed.” Fletcher started to answer before another thought hit him and sank in his stomach.

“No, and I’ve not seen Oren and Oriana either…” He whispered. His mother’s eyes widened and shortly both of them dashed to the door to Fergus’ room.

The inside of the room stank of blood. Oriana and Oren lay next to each other, the body of one of Howe’s soldiers nearby, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his abdomen. 

“No! My sweet Oren! Why would Howe do this!?” Eleanor ran into the room and started cradling Oren’s head. 

Fletcher found his own eyes stinging with tears at the sight of his sister in law and nephew. He heard footsteps approaching and then a gasp. The elven warden was standing beside him, he had gone pale. Fletcher gripped the elf tightly by his robe.

“You can heal them.” He spat out manically. 

“I… I’m sorry” The elf murmured, his voice hitching. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

“No, heal them! DO IT! You did it for Iona, do it for them!” He shouted, shaking the other man slightly.

“There’s nothing I can do If someone’s already gone… I’m so sorry.” He tried to grip Fletcher’s hands, to release himself. Fletcher felt a surge of rage overwhelm him. He lashed out and a loud smack echoed through the room as he backhanded Mithos, who staggered half a step backwards from the blow.

“Fletcher!” He dimly heard his mother shout, he couldn’t bring himself to care much about her admonishment.

“Dammit elf! Heal them, I know you can. Just do it!” He screamed, before he felt something cold beneath his chin. His eyes went to the dwarven warden who was watching him with a steely look, sword held steadily to his neck.

“Do not harm my comrade. We came to save you. Breaking down like this accomplishes nothing. Now get ahold of yourself if you want to live.” She stated deliberately. Fletcher wasn’t sure if the threat of death was from her or Howe’s soldiers, either way it sobered him somewhat.

He stepped back. Swallowing down fury and pain he turned his back on the bodies. With shaky breaths he headed out into the hall and leaned against a cold stone wall as the far-off sounds of battle and a nearby whispered discussion flowed over him. He felt Mack bump his head against his leg softly and whine. Fletcher absently reached down and scratched the hound behind the ears whilst staring straight ahead.

The Wardens and the Teryna emerged from Fergus and Oriana’s room a minute later. Fletcher could see that his mother was blotchy faced and red eyed and he doubted he looked much better. 

“Fletcher, we need to find your father and see if we can get out of the castle. We’re going to use the passage in the Larder. The Wardens have agreed to help.” Fletcher did not respond to his mother’s words, but he drew an arrow from his quiver and rested it against his bowstring.

He would have felt hesitation in actually trying to kill someone, but Oriana and Oren’s bodies flashing through his mind dried up any sympathy he felt for Howe’s soldiers. 

\--#--

Knock, draw, aim, release, repeat. Fletcher moved absently through the castle, his home burning and screams echoing around him. Dairen, Landra, Aldous, Ser Gilmore the martyr, bodies and bodies and bodies. With each find Dread piled more and more heavily on the party, and all became as subdued as Fletcher himself. 

They were able to save the family sword, yet not the men guarding it. Hanging at his side the Cousland treasure that fascinated him as a small child just made Fletcher feel sick. 

His senses strangely felt heightened somehow despite his drifting mind. It took him a while to realise that despite not many attacks making it through the offense of Mack and Skala, those that did manage to injure him always found themselves undone in moments, flesh sealing with a soft glow. 

Until they didn’t.

A trio of soldiers blocked their way, anxiously watching the larger party. Eleanor’s arrow took one in the side and Fletcher’s pierced him in the neck, dropping him dead. Skala exchanged blows with another for a few seconds before batting away his blade with the superior weight of her own, and driving her greatsword into his gut. The third managed to loose an arrow which cut through Fletcher’s side, causing a deep and painful gash, and raising a frightened yelp from Iona where she cowered behind the fighters. A moment later he went down as Mack viciously savaged his face and neck.

Fletcher felt the wound begin to close, the bleeding stifled and the edges began knitting back together. Yet all at once the process stopped and he felt his vision grow a bit less precise, his hearing dimmed and aches which he previously hadn’t noticed sprung up in muscles all over his body. 

“Mithos, that’s enough.” Skala commanded as she marched back from the front of the group. Fletcher turned around and saw the elven Warden doubled over and breathing heavily. 

“No, no, Skala, I need to keep going, his wound hasn’t fully closed.” To his credit Mithos managed to straighten up and hold out a hand towards Fletcher, which began to emanate a green light, only to sputter out and cause the mage to begin dragging in heaving breaths. 

“Don’t be a fool, Duncan said to watch out for you exhausting your mana supply and I assume this is what he meant. Stay at the rear and try to rest yourself. We will likely have to march tonight.” She ordered Mithos, who gave a begrudging nod. The dwarven Warden then turned to Eleanor and Fletcher. “We will need to make do without magic for now, so avoid further injuries at all costs.” She directed a quick look to Fletcher. “Will you be okay?”

The wound still hurt quite badly but the bleeding had largely stopped and it was partially closed. He gave a nod to the affirmative. 

“We’re close to the kitchens where the secret passage is.” Eleanor interjected.

She was correct and the group only had one more minor skirmish in which they managed to avoid any major injuries before they entered the kitchen. Fletcher mentally added Nan to the list of the dead, another arrow for Howe’s rancid hide. The woman lied in a pool of her own blood, a shocked look painted on her face, eyes wide and unblinking. Eleanor reached down to close them. 

A stifled gasp drew the attention of the group towards the larder. Fletcher and Eleanor lead the way with the others shortly behind.

“There you both are… I was wondering when you’d both get here.” A weak voice called.

“Bryce!” Eleanor cried.

“Father!” Fletcher exclaimed, sprinting to the heavily wounded Teryn as he struggled to push his own weight up. His wife and son settled him against a crate of turnips to ease the pressure from his frame.

“Maker’s blood, you’re bleeding. What happened?” Eleanor questioned in a panic.

“Howe’s men… got to me first. Ducan found me… Brought me here.” Bryce grit out between wet breaths.

“And he left you!?” Fletcher cried incredulously. “Don’t worry Father, we’ll get you out.” He consoled his stricken father, before whipping his head to the Wardens standing in the doorway. “Mithos, heal him.” He ordered the elf. Mithos gave a look at the dying Teryn, shaking off Skala’s arm as she tried to hold him back he walked to kneel beside the man.

The elf took a deep breath before his hands illuminated with the same healing glow from earlier. Fletcher saw a spark of hope light in his father’s eyes as the elf set to work mending the mass of fatal wounds littering his body. Mithos’ brows were scrunched in concentration and sweat dripped heavily down his face as he worked.

“See, we’ve got healing magic, we’ll get you out, tell Fergus, kill Howe and the-“ Fletcher’s planning was interrupted by Bryce giving a grunt of pain as Mithos fell face forward onto his wounded abdomen. 

Eleanor cried out and Fletcher dragged the elf off of his father, about to berate him before noticing that Mithos’ body had gone slack. His eyes were closed and he was taking slow breaths. Fletcher tried shaking him but the mage could not be roused. Skala grabbed the unconscious elf away from Fletcher with a scowl, muttering to herself as she leaned him against a sack of grain. 

“Sorry Pup, looks like I won’t be able to come along after all, unless you’re willing to leave parts of me behind.” Bryce wheezed out, even half healed his wounds were still fatal. 

“Bryce, this is no time for Jokes!” His wife yelled at him.

“Father, let’s go dammit, we can find you a better healer, we can escape through the servants’ passage.” Fletcher demanded around an aching throat. Bryce just turned a sad gaze on his son.

“The castle is surrounded, I won’t be able to make it.” He whispered. Fletcher was about to argue back when a new voice joined in.

“I’m afraid the Teryn is correct, Howe’s men surround the castle, although they have not yet found this exit. Getting past will be difficult.” Duncan gravely said as he entered the larder, sheathing a sword with a few drops of blood still clinging to its edge.

“You are the Grey Warden… Duncan? Who sent those two to help my family?” Eleanor asked, indicating towards Skala and Mithos.

“Yes, your ladyship. I hope my recruits were able to help you. I thought Mithos may have been able to heal the Teryn.” He cast a glance to his unconscious recruit. “But it seems it may have been beyond his talents.”

“He fatigued himself during the fighting, then tried to heal the Teryn when he was already exhausted.” Skala informed the Warden, who brought a hand to his forehead, brow wrinkling in frustration. 

“Duncan, I know you are under no obligation to me, but please, see my wife and son to safety.” Bryce pleaded to the Warden.

“I can see them safely to Ostagar, but I am afraid I must ask for something in return.” The Warden replied.

“Anything.” The Teryn rasped out.

“Skala, what do you think of young Lord Cousland?” Duncan asked the dwarf.

“He’s volatile and inexperienced, but even so his accuracy is uncanny. With time he could become a worthy Warden.” She replied after some deliberation.

“Very well, Teryn Cousland. I will take your son and wife to Ostagar where they can inform the king of Howe’s treachery, then your son joins the Grey Wardens.” Duncan informed the dying Lord. 

Fletcher felt rage bubbling inside him at being ignored in a conversation about his future. “Wait, does anyone care what I even think of this!?” he shouted at Duncan.

“Were you not volunteering yourself as a candidate just this afternoon?” The Warden countered with a raised brow. 

“That was before… before all this!” Fletcher punched the wall, skin grazing off his knuckles and leaving a red smear. “I can’t desert my family for the wardens, not after this! Howe needs to be punished.” 

“And he will be. We will inform King Cailin and he will bring Howe to justice. A Grey Warden’s duty takes precedence even over vengeance.” Duncan slowly informed him, the condescending tone just stoking the fires in Fletcher even higher.

“I’m not a fucking Warden! You can’t just decide that and expect me to go along with-“

“Fletcher” his father croaked, taking a weak hold on his ankle. Fletcher whipped around to face his father and felt alarm flood through him at seeing how much paler he had gotten in the past few minutes, his finery thoroughly stained with blood. “We couslands have always done our duty first… the wardens need you.”

“But it’s not fair…” Fletcher rasped with a hitch of coming tears in his throat. His father just gave a sad smile. 

“Not much in life is… now go.” He said, voice growing weaker by the word. 

Fletcher’s shoulders slumped with the weight of acceptance. The new life he was being forced into weighing heavy on his shoulders. _And I was jealous of Ser Gilmore for being considered just this afternoon_. 

Duncan slung Mithos over his shoulder and made for the exit, Skala following behind him. “My Lord, Lady Cousland, we must leave now.” He said.

Fletcher felt his mother’s gaze upon him and saw determination upon her face. He shook his head slowly, denying the word he knew were to come.

“Fletcher, you go ahead without me, you’ll have a better chance of escaping without me.” She told him. Fletcher screwed his eyes shut.

“No, you can’t… not you too.” He muttered before he felt his mother’s arms around him.

“You must live darling. I’ll kill every bastard that comes through those doors to give you more time to escape, but please, for me, just live.” She whispered.

“I will.” He shakily replied. 

Duncan lead the party into the tunnel, Mithos slung over his shoulder, blonde hair dangling, and Skala half a step behind, keeping a quick pace even in her armour. Mack trotted along between the Wardens and his master. Fletcher felt with a start someone draw close to him.

“My Lord, I’m scared.” He heard Iona whisper to him, he shook her loose grip on his arm off roughly before moving ahead, after all that’d happened why should he give a damn about her feeling scared?  
\--#--  
They pushed through, marching through the small hours of the morning in grim silence. Or rather, Fletcher did, he could see Skala and Duncan ahead of him discussing in low voices. Iona trudging behind him gave an infrequent sniffle or sob as they moved on. _What does she even have to be upset about?_

A few hours into their march Mithos stirred and awoke, and after a few confused minutes of explanations he began walking himself, although often he needed to lean on Duncan for support.

Shortly after reaching the highway they had the good fortune to meet with a caravan heading towards Denerim whom Duncan was able, with a few words and a pouch of silver, to convince to take Iona.

She bid them all farewell, giving Mithos a hug and the other Wardens her deepest thanks. She said nothing to Fletcher. He huffed in annoyance after she left but otherwise gave little thought to the selfish woman.

A short while afterwards Mithos tentatively approached Fletcher and tried to apologise for failing to save his father, and offer some trite sympathies. Fletcher glared at the elf and refused to accept his words. _He did fail. He’s a fool who doesn’t deserve to be absolved_.

An hour or so later Skala came to him and tried to scold him for being unfair to his fellows, he just rolled his eyes at the dwarf’s self-righteousness. _What could she know about the sting of such betrayal and the pain of losing family, losing your whole world?_

During their midday break Duncan gave him some lecture about duty and threw his father’s words back at him. Fletcher just ignored the old Warden, stewing in his resentment and letting his mind drift. _There’s only one duty that really matters. When I get to Ostagar Cailin will know, then that bastard Howe will get what is coming to him…_


	6. Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes arrive at the ruins of Ostagar to prepare for the joining. Fletcher puts revenge in motion, Mithos meets and old mentor, Skala contemplates the Wardens and Mack gets complimented on his shiny coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, everyone, I updated, this chapter is a big one, over 4k words. Thanks as always to Ray Murata for encouraging me in my pursuit of becoming a better author and providing some entertainment for all you people out there. If you like the story or want to know anything please leave a comment, I would love feedback, spurs me on to write better and more efficiently.

After three and a half weeks of travel Ducan and his recruits reached the Southern fortress of Ostagar, located on the edge of the Korkari wilds. 

To Fletcher’s eyes the ruin was not particularly impressive. Clearly fallen from its glory days, the once proud Tevinter fortress was sinking into decay. 

Great stone walls and towers had crumbled and shattered, and plants had overtaken half the structure, creepers and moss draping themselves over nearly every brick. Amongst it all one tower still stood tall however, proud and resolute against the attempts of the wilds to reclaim what it once owned.

Fletcher noticed Mithos gaping and looking around wide eyed at the whole structure, Fletcher rolled his eyes at the sheltered elf. He seemed to think everything was amazing, he even stood out in the rain for half an hour one night and spent half the next day sneezing because of it.

There was one thing in the fortress however that Fletcher longed to see, and to his fortune that thing was approaching the four as they entered the ruins themselves.

“Ho, there, Duncan.” King Cailan called. Bedecked in his golden armour and shining blonde hair the King looked more like an idol of a great warrior than a real person.

“Your Majesty, I wasn’t expecting-”

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun.” The King teased with a smirk. 

“Cailan.” Fletcher called grabbing the King’s attention. Duncan flashed him a look of irritation and a smug satisfaction filled the young Cousland.

“By all that’s… Fletcher Cousland, what are you doing here? I’d heard Duncan was bringing new recruits but I hardly expected you.” A cheeky grin crossed Cailan’s face. “Won’t your father be rather displeased about this?”

“He’s dead.” Fletcher muttered. Clenching his fists and looking down as he snarled to himself.

“Dead, but… what do you mean, Fletcher?” Cailan asked.

“He’s dead, Father, Mother, Oren, Oriana… Howe killed them all.” His eyes burned and his chest ached and he desperately wished Howe was nearby so he could shove arrows through his scheming eyes.

Fletcher heard Duncan quickly corroborate his story to Cailan, still sounding a bit miffed at having been interrupted.

“As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.” Fletcher blinked as he realized he was being spoken to and looked to meet Cailan’s eyes. There he found genuine anger to match his own, and he immediately felt a little better.

“What kind of justice?” He asked quietly.

“He will hang. It will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this.” Fletcher smiled at the king’s words, it would be quicker than Howe deserved but still satisfying. “No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds.” Fletcher honestly dreaded seeing Fergus, he’d have to tell him what happened, he fell quiet in contemplation.

Cailan then proceeded to offer his greetings and best wishes to Skala and Mithos, the latter of whom seemed overwhelmed at meeting a monarch, before begging leave to go and speak with Teryn Loghain. Duncan giving him some words of caution that seemed to slide off the man’s glory hungry exterior.

“What the king Said is true. They’ve won several battles against the Darkspawn already.” Duncan claimed after Cailan had made his exit.

“A few battles will not beat back the Darkspawn. He’s underestimating them.” Skala cautioned.

“True.” Duncan conceded as the group started walking. “Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with every passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us.” There was a slight edge of fear tinging his voice, but resignation seemed to overpower it. “I know there is an Archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the King to act solely on my feeling.” Duncan sighed deeply. 

“But if there’s an archdemon then we’d need to prepare, the whole army could be in danger.” Mithos said.

“Sadly our numbers here are too few, without the Orlesian wardens we must look to Teryn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end we should proceed with the joining ritual without delay.” Duncan advised.

“What do you need us to do?” Mithos asked eagerly.

“You can explore the camp as you wish, but I will need you to find Alistair, another Grey Warden here, and the other recruits, Daveth and Jory. They should know it is time for the joining ritual. Skala, you recall the other recruits do you not?” Duncan asked, and received a quick nod in reply. “Good. Then I will leave you to it, meet me at the Grey Warden tent when you are ready.”

As they crossed the bridge Skala gave the two men a description of Daveth and Jory.

“For now, it may be best to split up, I will meet you to later at the Grey Warden tent.” Skala commanded.

“Alright Skala.”

Fletcher noticed the Dwarf staring at him and it seemed his attempts to ignore her were not working.  
“Fine, your highness.” He said sarcastically, adding in a mock bow. A strange look crossed the dwarf’s face too quickly for Fletcher to really catch it, before a scowl descended once more.

“You know, I’m not the one at fault for what happened. We’re going to have to work together in the future, so you should try and remember who your allies are.” She advised before proudly walking away. 

“And who made you the boss!?” Fletcher shouted at her retreating back. 

“Well… I guess I’ll see you later too Fletcher.” Mithos awkwardly said from beside Fletcher.

“Sure, Elf.” Fletcher waved him off, and Mithos left with a far less confident gait than Skala.

Mack barked loudly beside Fletcher.

“Yeah, boy, just you and me. At least there’s someone I can rely on here.”

\--#--

The army camp was bustling with people, all shoving one way or another. Voices were raised in shouted commands and arguments, and Mithos frequently was pushed aside by armoured humans moving along the stone paths. 

Several times he was stopped by someone trying to give him an order, often they would look at his robes before realizing their mistake and waving him off, once or twice he had to inform them that he was a warden recruit before they let him go.

It was strange to be an elf amongst humans rather than one mage among many. Mithos felt old memories that he’d thought long buried rise. Crowds and stench and hunger laced across all of them.

He refocused on trying to find the other wardens, pushing through the haze of memories. Yet an altogether different sight greeted him. 

Amongst the many military tents he made out a vibrant purple pavilion, emblazoned with the emblems of the circle and chantry. He could sense the fade rippling and noticed several mages standing outside, working some complex spell. Even better there was someone he easily recognized present.

“Senior Enchanteer Wynne!” He called as he ran to the tent. His old instructor looked mildly surprised before gently smiling at him.

“Mithos, it is good to see you. Irving finally decided to harrow you then?” She asked.

“Yes, Senior Enchanter.” He held up his hand to display the circle’s insignia ring, grinning proudly.

“Well it’s about time, I’ve been telling Irving that you were ready for months. But you know how sentimental he can be about some things.” She chuckled. “Well, then, grab your staff. There are plenty of wounded here, and Gregoir let far too few of us come to deal with them all.” 

“I’m sorry Senior Enchanter, but I can’t.” Mithos replied.

“Is there something wrong with your staff young man? or did you somehow already exhaust your mana today?” She raised a brow to prompt Mithos.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He panicked a little holding his hands in front of himself. “It’s just I’m not here with the circle… I’m here with the Grey Wardens, and the Warden Commander provided me with other orders.” He gave an apologetic shrug. 

“Well, a Grey Warden then.” Both of Wynne’s brows had now risen. “You know the life with the Wardens will not be easy… are you certain of your decision?” She asked softly, laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“I… I don’t think it’s something I can go back on.” He murmured. “Besides this gives me the chance to help lots of people, and make mages be seen in a better light.” He added more firmly, looking up to meet the older mage’s eyes. 

“Well then, this old lady best not get in the way of a mighty Grey Warden. Go see to your business, Mithos.” She smiled kindly at the young mage, before rummaging around in her satchel for a moment, withdrawing a pair of softly glowing blue potions. “Best take these with you. Real combat is not like circle exercises, and some Lyrium may well make the difference between life and death.”

As Mithos took the potions he reflected guiltily on all the difference a little phial of lyrium could have made for Teryn Cousland.

“Thank you, Wynne… Wait, I am looking for some Warden recruits, and another Warden called Alistair… do you know where they are?” 

“I have not seen the other recruits, but the Warden Alistair did come to speak with Cuthbert, they went into the ruins over there.” Wynne pointed off in the direction of a ramp and Mithos nodded his thanks.

“It’s good to see you Wynne. With the Wardens… I don’t know when I will again.” He shifted awkwardly. 

“Don’t worry Mithos, I’m sure it won’t be too long.” She gave his arm a tight squeeze. “Now get going, we both have business to attend to, and this is a warzone.” She let go of his arm and gently shoved him in the direction Alistair had gone.

“Right, right.” He quickly pivoted, nearly ran into another armoured human and made his way into the ruins as he heard Wynne laughing a little behind him.

The ruins were beautiful, Stone that had endured through centuries and still stood. Many of the statues were clearly recognizable and Mithos gazed at them in wonder. A particularly beautiful pair flanked one of the ramps. The stone faces of proud mages were lit in the morning sun. _It’s ironic really, fighting one legacy of the Magisters of old inside of another_. 

He moved between the ancient statues as he heard the frustrated voice of Senior Enchanter Cuthbert. He saw the man talking to another human. The other man had sandy blonde hair stuck up in a cowlick and had a light dusting of stubble around a strong chin, and wore splintmail armour. Mithos had to admit he thought the human rather handsome, although not quite so much as Jow- _No, not thinking of Jowan, not after what he did…_.

“What is it now? Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the circle?” Cuthbert’s annoyed voice cracked like a whip.

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.” The other man replied, sounding as if he would rather be anywhere else.

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens- by the King’s orders, I might add.” He smugly added.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” The other man replied, pursing his lips in mock thought. 

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!” Cuthbert slammed his staff onto the stone ground with a loud clack of emphasis. But the other man didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.” Mithos by this point was covering his mouth with his hands to stifle his laughs. Senior Enchanter Cuthbert always was too tightly wound.

“Your glibness does you no credit.”

“Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one.” At Cuthbert’s indignant face Mithos couldn’t hold in his laughs any longer. 

Both men turned to the source and in short order Cuthbert marched past muttering about moronic Wardens and apprentices.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” The other human said fondly.

“I don’t think there’s much besides a gift of some fine Orlesian red that would bring Senior Enchanter Cuthbert closer to anyone.” Mithos replied, giggles still escaping him.

“Well, it’s good to know at least one mage here doesn’t hate me… Unless you want to yell at me too, make me get angry mage bingo.” He quipped.

“Bingo, you mean even Wynne yelled at you?” Mithos asked.

“I dropped some potions, my feet got shrunk to the size of grapes, long story.” The human declared, waving a hand airily. 

“I don’t think her yelling would be as bad as her disappointed look.” Mithos supplied.

“Oh yes, you’d think I’d kicked her puppy or something. The disappointed grandma act is unstoppable, how is any man supposed to stand up to that?” The human bemoaned, before looking Mithos up and down. “Wait, you’re not just any mage, you’re Duncan’s new recruit from the circle, he sent word you’d be coming, I apologize for not recognizing you right away.”

“No apologies necessary, you must be Alistair then? The Warden Commander asked me to find you.” Mithos lightly answered.

“Right then, apologies for that show with the mage. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the joining.” Alistair explained.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Mithos.” He stuck out his hand and Alistair took it in a firm shake. 

“Right that was the name… Anyhow, whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.” Alistair started to proceed down the ramp.

“Alistair, that argument with Senior Enchanter Cuthbert… what was it about?” Mithos cautiously asked. The warden stopped.

“Oh well, you would know how little the chantry likes the circle being here… so the Revered Mother likely meant it as an insult, sending me, as a former templar to deliver her message.” Alistair explained, looking abashed as he turned to face Mithos.

“Oh… and Cuthbert is a big libertarian, I’m sorry you had to deal with that. we mages should act better than to blow up at the first little insult.” Mithos apologized, lowering his head in contrition.

“What, no, no… it’s not your fault, I guess they just didn’t get Duncan’s whole ‘we should all co-operate’ speech.” Alistair chuckled uncomfortably. “Anyway, we should probably go find him, let’s go.” 

“You’re right. I look forward to travelling with you Alistair.” Mithos gave the human a smile.

“You do? Huh… that’s a switch.”

“A good one though, I hope.”

“I dunno, mages being nice to me, makes my skin feel all weird and tingly.” Alistair gave an exaggerated shake as they moved toward the Grey Warden tent.

\--#--  
Skala strode with confidence through the camp, head held high. Funnily enough she found herself comfortable showing her face on the surface of all places. so few humans and elves actually knew what the tattoo staining her visage meant. _Ancestors preserve me, thankful to be on the surface, of all places_. She thought ruefully. 

Despite her diminutive size and shabbily mismatched armour, most who saw her swiftly stepped aside. As she continued on her eyes drifted with feigned disinterest to the left and right as she took in the teeming throngs of humans moving about. She felt confident enough in her memory to be able to recognize Daveth and Jory on sight.

“So… any last wishes I can help fulfill before you head into battle?” Or by sound, she mentally added, turning her head towards the source of the noise.

Daveth stood in front of an archer, casually leaning against a tree. The woman’s blonde hair pulled back in a bun and arms crossed in front of her, clearly unimpressed with the recruit’s display.

“Life is fleeting, you know. That pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow.” He playfully waggled a finger towards the woman, whose glare only darkened in turn.

“Shall I take that quiet glare as a no?” The woman roughly brushed past Daveth. “Ahh, well. Too bad.” He said to himself with an exaggerated shrug. “Don’t suppose you’d have any unfulfilled desires then?” He cocked his head towards Skala, with a lopsided grin.

Skala was somewhat surprised the man had noticed her observing the exchange but quickly recovered. She eyed him up and down.  
“No.” She deadpanned.

Daveth gave a sigh “Ahh, seems there’ll be no luck for me then. Good to see you again. Skala, right? Take it this means Duncan’s back?”

“He is, asked me and the other recruits to gather everyone to meet with him.” She turned and motioned Daveth to follow her, the human quickly falling into step alongside her shorter stride.

“Seems my little vacation here is over, just when I was starting to appreciate scenic Ostagar and all its beauties.” Daveth commented with a sad shake of his head.

“I am sure that you were able to fulfill many ‘Last Wishes’ for the women here.” She drily replied. Daveth looked stricken.

“You’re a cruel woman, Skala, making me the butt of your jokes.” He cried. “Well, now that you’re here I suppose we’ll finally get to see this ritual. I was starting to think the Wardens cooked it up just for our benefit… any idea what it entails?” 

“What makes you think I would know how it is performed?” She asked, tilting her head up at Daveth to guage him. There was a slight knowing glint in his eye.

“Well you’ve been travelling with Duncan for a while now, and living near the deep roads, I thought you might have better knowledge of the Wardens.” He casually crossed his arms behind his head as the pair continued. 

Skala briefly considered how little the average human knew of the Grey Wardens. She supposed surfacers could not truly understand what the darkspawn could do when they hadn’t truly lost much to the scourge.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you would, the Warden’s keep to themselves mostly.” She commented.

“Well, I was sneaking around last night, and I heard a couple of wardens talking, so I listen in see.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I think they’re planning to send us into the wilds.” He whispered as if it were some deadly secret.

“And this concerns you, does it?” Skala prompted, wondering what was so bad about the wilds.

“Well of course, there’s all sorts of things in that forest, Chasind, and savage wolves, darkspawn too now, and worst of all… witches. I grew up near here, you don’t want to know the stories of what’s in that place.” He shiftily looked around, as if terrified a witch would burst from a nearby bush.

“If it scares you so much, then why not leave? If you’re not privy to any secret Warden information they’d likely let you go.” She offered the worried human.

“Ah, sadly that’s not possible for me now, not after what Duncan saved me from. Being a wanted pickpocket leaves very few avenues of employment sadly. Without Warden protection I’d probably just get strung up.” He lamented.

“I guess Duncan has a habit of recruiting the desperate.” She muttered to herself _people who can’t back out_. She was never fool enough to believe that it was glorious to be a Grey Warden, they all met their ends at the teeth and claws and rusted blades of darkspawn, one way or another.

“You say something?” Daveth piped up?

“No, it was nothing.” Skala shook her head swiftly and led the human onwards in search of the other recruits.  
\--#--  
“And look at that coat, simply beautiful. Sometimes you see the hounds going bald on the back of the legs, but not this beauty.” Mack barked in confirmation while the kennelmaster gave him a scratching under the chin.

Fletcher rolled his eyes at Mack. The egotistical hound had dragged him over towards the kennel master only for the young Cousland to be lectured to about how fine a dog he had. Something he of course already knew, Mack’s lineage had been with the family for generations. 

A pang hit Fletcher as he thought of his family and he glanced over the rows of tents, he could see the royal pavilion peaking above all the others. _Cailan is ready, deal with the darkspawn, and then Howe will hang._

“Beautiful hound, if you weren’t using him Warden I might ask to have him stud for me.” Fletcher tuned back in to the end of the kennelmaster’s rambling.

“Yeah, sorry but Mack stays with me.” He said with a shrug.

“No, no I get it. I know better than to try and separate a Mabari and their master. Just musing on the ideal is all… If he’s staying with you though Warden, there’s something you should know. The darkspawn, their blood makes the hounds sick, often kills them.” Fletcher levelled a glower at the kennelmaster. 

“Are you saying my hound’s going to be poisoned by darkspawn?” It did seem like something Duncan would conveniently forget, let his last major tie to home die off so he could be fully dedicated to the Wardens, the Warden Commander would love that. 

“What no, no..” The Kennelmaster took a step back at Fletcher’s abrupt rage. “Well not if I can do something to stop it.” He added as an afterthought.

Fletcher gave him a quick prompt to continue.

“You see, there’s this flower that grows in the wilds, all white with a red centre. Some say they’ve soaked up spawn blood before and have become immune to the taint, whatever the case I can use them to make a concoction that will immunize your hound against the spawn blood.” He explained.

“Well, give him this concoction then.” Fletcher snapped, gesturing towards Mack, who was still preening under the earlier compliments.

“The problem there, Ser Warden… I don’t have any left. I’ve run out of the flowers and need more, but all the scouting parties have already gone out. If you could get me some of the flowers though, then I could immunize your hound right quick.” The Kennelmaster gave Fletcher a pleading look. _Probably just doesn’t want his perfect specimen to get sick._

“Fine, I’ll get your bloody flower.” Fletcher snarled. With a snap of his fingers he called Mack back to him and the pair swiftly left the Kennelmaster.

“Uh-fortune keep you Warden.” The man called after him.

“Bloody Wardens.” Fletcher muttered to himself as he stomped along. Mack barked happily beside him. “Yeah, of course you liked the Kennelmaster, he did nothing but say how wonderful you are.” Mack whined and gave Fletcher a sad look, amber eyes widening and ears drooping behind his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work on me. Remember who taught you that trick.”

Mack gave a disgruntled bark

“Baby.” 

Fletcher supposed it would be a good idea to start looking for those other recruits, Daveth and Jory… there was something about the name that seemed familiar to Fletcher, but he couldn’t quite place it. At least not until the enormous armored oaf nearly walked into him.

“Oh, pardon there, I didn’t see you.” The bald man that Fletcher saw immediately took him back to the last tourney he had been to in Highever, some five months back he’d seen this very man win the grand melee.

“You’re Jory, right?” He asked, already anticipating the answer.

“I am, yes... how did you know? Are you one of Duncan’s new recruits?” The question was innocent but the mention of Duncan made Fletcher grit his teeth a little. _Manipulative bastard_

“Yeah, I am. Fletcher Cousland.” He offered to the knight, whose mouth gaped open at hearing the name.

“Cousland, like the Teryns of highever?” The man stammered out. Fletcher enjoyed that at least someone seemed to recognize his station. He gave the man a shallow nod. “My Lord Cousland, it is truly an honour to meet you, to be working with you!” 

Fletcher gave a smirk at the Knight’s flow of adoration. Mack made a distinctively derisive hacking noise from beside him, and he shot the hound a mean look. At least Fletcher’s praise wasn’t for his shiny coat.

“If you’d permit me to ask my lord, why did your Father let you join the Wardens? Not that you aren’t worthy, or the Wardens aren’t glorious, I just am surprised that he would permit his son to forsake so much to join them.” The knight rambled out his question, often gesticulating awkwardly.

“He’s dead.” Fletcher ground out, Jory’s mouth managed to gape even wider than before, making the big man seems like a particularly bizarre exotic fish.

“But last I heard the Teryn was hale and in good health.” He breathed in shock.

“Yeah, well, Arl Howe decided to make a power grab.” He spat on the ground after saying this, Howe’s name felt dirty on his tongue. Jory at least had the sense to look properly mortified at this betrayal.

“But this, My Lord, it can’t stand!” He declared.

“It won’t, after these darkspawn are taken care of, the King is wheeling his troops around North, and Howe will pay.” He couldn’t help but smile at the prospect.

Jory withdrew his sword and bent his knee before Fletcher, offering him the blade.

“Please, my Lord Cousland, when you go for revenge take me with you, to help this wrong be righted.”

“I’ll hold you to your word, Ser Jory.” Fletcher said, laying a hand upon the blade. Pleased to know that there were at least some Wardens with a sense of justice.


	7. Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden recruits travel through the Korcari Wilds in search of Darkspawn blood and old treaties, but they find something altogether different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm here with a slightly quicker update, and everyone's in a swamp, fun times! As always I hope you enjoy reading and if there's anything you'd like to ask about please leave a comment down below.

Skala wrinkled her nose. The wilds stank. Skala had, in her time, been exposed to plenty of unpleasant smells, from the iron rich tang of spilt blood in the proving arena, to the overpoweringly acidic perfume some noblewomen favoured, to the rotting flesh and cold stone odor of the Deep Roads. The Korcari Wilds were something else altogether. The Wilds were the smell of life dying and being consumed and born once more. An aromatic cocktail of decaying wood, stagnant algae filled pools and animal droppings.

With each step, her boots sunk and were sucked down into the spongey earth. Getting a proper stance and balance in this place was near impossible. An unfortunate lesson that Skala learnt when she nearly fell during a fight with some rabid wolves that had attacked earlier.

“And still no sign of darkspawn. Are you actually sure there are any here?” Fletcher loudly complained from a few steps behind the her. Skala slightly rolled her eyes at the human’s petulance.

Skala had her senses stretched, fully focused for any sign of spawn, rasping breath, fetid odor, a sight of corpse pale flesh, anything to alert her to their presence. A task that would be easier if Fletcher would stop complaining for a few minutes.

A rising whistle sliced through the air, above the croaks of frogs and chirping of bugs.

“Daveth’s found something.” Skala muttered to herself, leading the other recruits alongside her.

Skala was not certain of the quality of the other recruits. Daveth seemed useful and reliable enough, although perhaps he was a little too easygoing. Yet he had a surprising amount of nerve, venturing into the Wilds that he had been raised on nightmarish stories of. Jory however dressed like a warrior but jumped at every shadow, like an emissary might be lurking and ready to pounce on him, caution was wise, but the big knight seemed to err on the side of cowardice. 

They found Daveth kneeling next to a heavily wounded man, deep, bleeding cuts littered his body, and his breathing was ragged and wet. 

“Who is that… Grey Wardens?” He rasped upon seeing their party approach.

“Well, he’s not half as dead as he looks, is he?” Alistair quipped lightly.

“Darkspawn attacked my scouting band! They came… out of the ground please help me! I’ve got to… return to camp.”

Mithos wasted no time rushing to the injured man’s side, his hands quickly began to glow and the man squirmed away from him slighty, seemingly disturbed by the sight of magic. Surfacers truly were baffling, facing off against darkspawn in a swamp full of deadly animals and he was scared of the elf trying to heal him.

“Let him work.” She admonished the human softly, who stopped squirming quite so much as Mithos methodically closed each wound on the man’s body. 

After half a minute the man struggled to his feet, he muttered a quick, halfhearted thanks before staggering off in the direction of camp. Skala wondered if the man had the blight, if he did there would be little even Mithos’ magic could do for him.

“Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men, killed by Darkspawn!” Jory worried to Alistair.

“Calm down Ser Jory.” Alistair met the Knights gaze, locking his darting, nervous eyes on the present for a moment. “We’ll be fine if we’re careful.”

“Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed.” Jory gestured to the bodies spread around them. “How many darkspawn can the six of us slay? A score? A hundred? There’s an entire army in these forests!” Jory’s breaths were coming more rapidly now. 

“There are Darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.” Alistair reasoned.

“H-how do you know? I’m not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.” The knight stammered out.

“If you wish to be a Warden, Ser Jory, you will need to be prepared to face darkspawn.” Skala reasoned and she saw the knight deflate a little.

“That’s… true.” He admitted. 

“Know this; All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won’t take us by surprise. That’s why I’m here.” Alistair slowly explained. Skala could appreciate that the Warden knew to keep a level tone with a panicking subordinate. 

“You see Ser Knight, We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first.” Daveth quipped.

“Hooray for the Wardens.” Fletcher sardonically cheered.

“Come on, we’d best move on, we still need to retrieve the blood and treaties.” Skala advised before leading the group off again. 

After a dozen squelching paces she noticed something seemed off from earlier. She turned around. She noticed easily Jory, Fletcher and Alistair behind her, Daveth was scouting a short way ahead. Mithos was still crouched beside the pool where they found the wounded soldier.

As she approached she noticed he was staring intently at a Raven, it’s sleek black feathers were gleaming dully in the weak light, and it too stood incredibly still, meeting the mage’s gaze, as if in challenge.

“Mithos!” She snapped. The elf jerked and stood upright quickly, the raven flew away in a blur of dark feathers. “I understand you’re interested in nature after all those years in a tower, but you need to not get separated, there a darkspawn lurking about.” She admonished. 

“Right. I’m sorry Skala, that raven just seemed… off somehow.” He shook his head before moving to follow Skala as the party moved deeper into the wilds.

\--#--

“Look at them, poor sods.” Alistair muttered with a heavy sigh.

A trio of corpses were dangling from a fallen tree. The bodies were mangled and bloody all over from deep cuts as well as claw and bite marks. A light breeze blew through the wilds causing the bodies to sway like macabre wind chimes.

Skala’d not seen any corpses hanging so openly in the deep roads, bodies were frequently torn up and consumed by the darkspawn, leaving fleshy and tattered remains and a lingering stench. This display though, it seemed deliberate, an effort to shock, to distract. Almost as if-

“Everyone be ready, I can sense something.” Alistair said tensely.

No sooner than he had uttered his warning did a genlock appear from seemingly thin air. With a shriek, it jumped at Skala, stabbing with a wicked dagger. 

Skala brought her blade up in a quick parry, the dagger screeched against her blade but was diverted from its course towards her jugular. The darkspawn growled, tensed its body and came at her with a series of wild and imprecise cuts.

Skala held her greatsword in a tight, two handed grip, desperately diverting blows, at a range this close she was at a distinct disadvantage against the shorter and more maneuverable dagger, and had to pour her whole focus into defending. 

An arrow impacted with a meaty thunk into the shoulder of the genlock, it’s monstrous features twisted as it screamed in pain. Skala took the opportunity to silence it, decapitating the creature with a swift cut of her greatsword. 

“Can’t even handle one by yourself Skala!” Fletcher taunted her from somewhere behind her back, Skala rolled her eyes and moved towards a Hurlock that was assaulting Ser Jory.

The human seemed to be almost in shock, he held his blade with shaking hands, crossed against that of the darkspawn. With a vicious shout the Hurlock knocked back the knight’s blade, and his mouth dropped open wide in a silent scream as the darkspawn cut across his exposed stomach. 

The knight dropped to his knees as Skala rushed the Hurlock, impaling it from behind. The creature stiffened on her blade, and then went limp, Skala quickly dislodged her sword, letting the monster drop to the muddy ground. 

Jory stayed kneeling on the ground, arms wound tight around his damaged torso, trying to hold in the blood spilling out.

Skala whipper her head to where she’d last seen Mithos. The mage in question had his staff levelled at an approaching Hurlock, with a flash of light and a violent bang the creature was thrown to the ground, where she saw Daveth quickly pounce upon it, driving a dagger into its neck. 

“Mithos, help Jory!” She bellowed the order. He swiveled his head towards her, pale eyes going from confused to alarmed.

“Skala, there’s one behind you!”

A shout was wrenched from Skala as agony flared up her arm arm, focusing around a point near her shoulder, from which a roughly made, black shafted arrow protruded. 

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she levelled her blade at the bow wielding darkspawn that had shot her. It’s bloody and split lips were pulled back in a bestial snarl, showcasing a maw of rotten fangs as it knocked another arrow to shoot at Skala. An opportunity she would not grant it.

In a few swift paces she covered the ground between her and the darkspawn, the creature loosed its shot at her but in its haste the shot went wild and missed. With two quick horizontal swipes of her sword she cleaved the creature’s bow in two and then cut deep into its gut. Vile, ropy innards spilled forth as it collapsed onto the ground. 

Surveying the field she observed about ten darkspawn lying dead from arrows and blade cuts, and one looking as if it had shriveled up somehow. Almost everyone had sustained some injury, Jory was still kneeling, now looking alarmingly pale and whispering “Helena” to himself in a harrowed voice, a nasty cut was scrawled across Fletcher’s cheek, spilling blood down his face, and Alistair walked with a slight limp as he moved towards Jory.

Skala removed the arrow from her arm with a grunt of pain, as she looked to see what their mage was doing.

Mithos was working some complicated spell as motes of light seemed to begin floating around him as he chanted. Gripping his staff in both hands and raising it high a wave of energy burst from him. As it passed by her Skala felt the pain in her arm fade away to nothing, and she rolled her shoulder, appreciating the freedom of movement.

“Well, for our first darkspawn ambush, that certainly could have gone a lot worse.” Alistair chimed in cheery voice.

“We… we nearly died!” Ser Jory spat, still kneeling on the ground.

“Stay calm Jory, we’re not going to let anyone die out here.” Alistair advised, as he moved to stand beside the knight. 

“The first time is always the worst with Darkspawn” Skala commented offhandedly.

“You-you’ve fought them before then?” 

“I’m from Orzammar, the darkspawn are always a threat there.” She gave a shrug as Jory shook his head in disbelief.

“Well then.” Alistair clapped his hands together. “Time for you all to collect your blood, I’d say you’ve earned it. You’ve got plenty of darkspawn to choose from.”

Skala gave a silent huff at the human’s perkiness as she uncorked her phial and held it to the gaping wound in the archer spawn. She watched as the black red blood oozed its way into the container, and stoppered the phial when it was filled with the cooling, tainted blood.

\--#--

The party proceeded through the wilds, fighting a few more skirmishes with darkspawn and thankfully sustaining no major wounds, at least not any beyond Mithos’ ability to mend. Although their progress was slowed by Fletcher wandering off to go pick a flower and Mithos insisting on laying some ashes to rest (which led to an attack from a demon, of all things!), they managed to make their way to the crumbling stone building which the treaties were supposed to be stored within. 

Like all structures within the wilds it was crumbling and tumbledown. Once expertly crafted stonework falling apart and sinking into the marshy ground, entering the building Skala was hit with a pang of familiarity as the decaying structure stirred memories of the lost and infested Thaigs of her people.

“Alright, Duncan said the documents should be stored towards the back of the structure, likely in a chest marked with the Wardens’ insignia.” Alistair advised from half a step behind her, a position the human seemed very comfortable with.

Leading the party into the ruin Skala was able to easily pick out a rusted iron chest with the griffon insignia of the Grey Wardens stamped upon it. The chest however clearly was in no state to hold anything, it had be crushed and torn open as if by some great beast’s claws. 

Skala kneeled to examine the chest, peering inside the gaping hole to see if anything remained within. There was no sign of decayed parchment so whatever broke the chest likely took the treaties.

“What could do this?” She muttered to herself. Nothing short of an ogre could rend iron like this, at least that she knew of _but why would a darkspawn, or any other creature for that matter take Grey Warden treaties?_

“Well, well, what have we here?” a sultry voice called.

Skala stood quickly, entering a fighting stance, prepared for an ambush. Yet before her stood a single woman. She was dressed in an eclectic collection of clothes. A black leather skirt covered much of her legs above some tight-fitting trousers and black high boots. Her upper body was more covered in jewelery than actual clothing with only a draping of red cloth covering her breasts, and a feathered pauldron and long glove upon one arm.

What was more striking about the woman was her absolute confidence, she ambled calmly through the ruins as if she owned them, amber eyes lazily taking in the assembled party. She clearly thought herself in no danger, which either meant she was not planning to attack them, or she believed she could kill all six of them easily.

Skala placed a hand upon the hilt of her sword behind her back.

“Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?” She queried as she descended a stone ramp. “Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn- filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

Alistair, like Skala, had placed his hand on his sword and was side eyeing the woman warily. Daveth was looking distinctly twitchy and had slunk back towards a shadowed alcove. Jory seemed unsure what to do, fidgeting nervously. Mithos was staring at the woman, looking completely unguarded, as if pondering a riddle read in a book. Fletcher was leaned against a column, raking his eyes over the woman’s form.

“What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?” She snapped more sharply, unimpressed by the silence she had received.

“Neither, this is a Grey Warden tower, we come to reclaim something left behind.” Skala replied

“’Tis a tower no longer. The wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse” The woman crossed her arms haughtily. “I have watched your progress for some time. “Where do they go,” I wondered, “Why are they here?” And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?” She rambled as she strolled past the Warden recruits, unthreatened as ever.

“The raven…” Mithos murmured.

“Oh, figured that out, have you?” Morrigan tossed a coy smirk at the mage “mayhap the chattel of the circle are not all as dim witted as I believed.” 

“Don’t talk to her Mithos. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.” Alistair cautioned.

“Oooh, you fear Barbarians will swoop down upon you?” The woman teased, flinging her arms out in a mock threatening fashion.

“Yes, swooping is bad.” Alistair said, glaring daggers at the woman. Who only seemed more pleased with herself at the mounting irritation of the Warden.

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds she is! She’ll turn us into toads!”

“Daveth, magic can’t turn people into toads, Senior Enchanter Mikhael ran a series of experiments during the storm age and found such complicated transformations to be impossible.” Mithos interjected.

“Oh, impossible, is it? Well I would suppose your circles would certainly hold all the knowledge of such magic. ‘Twould certainly be beyond a “Witch of the Wilds” such as I.” The witch drawled sarcastically. “You there, handsome lad. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized.” She addressed Fletcher.

“Don-” Alistair started.

“Fletcher Cousland, a pleasure.” Fletcher responded, giving Alistair a taunting look as he sighed at being ignored.

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan.” A distinctly pleased tone coloured the witch’s voice. 

“Morrigan, we are looking for some treaties that were in that chest.” Skala pointed towards the ruined chest. “Do you know where they are?”

“It so happens that I do, ‘twas my mother who removed them.” 

Skala was baffled by how Morrigan’s mother would have destroyed the chest in such a matter, although she supposed that if Morrigan’s mother was a mage, like she seemed to be, then such destruction might be possible.

“Those treaties are Grey Warden property, I _suggest_ you return them.” Alistair growled, clearly fed up with Morrigan’s circuitous speech.

“You invoke a name that means nothing here anymore, and would use it to manipulate me? I am not threatened. Besides, I would hardly think it worthwhile to carry treaties on my person.” She casually pushed an errant strand of ebon hair back into place as she responded to Alistair.

“If your mother has them, can you just take us to her then?” Fletcher interjected.

“There is a sensible request. I like you.” She giggled as she addressed Fletcher.

“I’d be careful. First it’s, “I like you…” but then ZAP! Frog time.” Alistair said, doing a very poor imitation of Morrigan’s voice. 

“She’ll put us all in the pot she will, just you watch!” Daveth whined.

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest it’d be a nice change.” Skala had to agree with Jory’s assessment, and wondered briefly how Morrigan could withstand the cold whilst wearing so little.

“Follow me then, if it pleases you.” Morrigan pivoted and began to leave the ruined tower.

Fletcher led the way after the witch, taking long strides to catch up with her, the rest of the party following after. Skala just hoped Morrigan’s mother would be more straightforward than she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like during this section in the game Alistair is trying to act as a voice of reason an experience, a role that he is really uncomfortable with, but it makes him come off a bit tryhardy. Also Morrigan is a bunch of fun to write and I look forward to more of her.


	8. Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recruits return to Ostagar. Mithos' mind is troubled as the joining looms before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh My Goodness. This chapter, oooh man, it was a tough one, and caused a bit of a delay, but after a lot of hard work and re-writing I finally produced something I was quite happy with, I hope you all enjoy it too. Also on a side note, today is my mum and sister's birthday, so yay for them! As always thanks to Ray_Murata for encouraging and supporting me, and discussing writing. Also thanks to my friend Connor for reading this and giving me suggestions for editing.

_“And what of you? Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint?” The old woman had turned her golden eyes on Mithos, he could feel them boring through him, gazing to the core of his being._

_The veil normally was only disturbed at places where magic had been performed continually, or for a long period. At the tower it was worn thin, so much so that slipping back and forth between the fade and waking world was a simple matter. The senior mages found it fascinating and convenient, the children found it terrifying._

_He could feel a similar disturbance around the old witch, but rather than wearing the veil thin, it felt more like it was bent, pressed against the fabric of reality so that one could almost peer through it._

_It made him feel like a child again._

_“I believe… I believe that you’re powerful… and old…” He murmured uncertainly, feeling like his thoughts were being plucked raw from his head. The old woman threw her head back in raucous laughter._

_“Oh, the people never do disappoint! Vague as you are you’re closer to the mark than you might think.”_

The old witch’s words were hard to remove from his head, ringing like a chantry bell, offset by the squelch of his boots in the marshy ground. Judging by the relatively silent march back through The Wilds he supposed that everyone had been put on edge by her cryptic ramblings. 

The witch’s words were not the only problem weighing upon his mind, he brushed his hand against the phial of blood in his pocket, feeling dirty.

Mithos stumbled over a tree root, lost in thought, and nearly fell into a pool of murky water. His stumble splashed mud and stagnant water over the skirt of his robe, he frowned looking down at the dirtied garment. It had received numerous rips, been paled by the sun and stained by the dirt and dust of his journey so far. 

_It’s not made for these conditions_ He thought glumly.

He supposed with these conditions he could see why Morrigan preferred her shorter length garb, it would be far easier to traverse through bogs and forests without fabric getting tangled in your legs. 

“Seems a most inconvenient way to dress.” Morrigan commented from a few steps ahead, he supposed she’d seen him stumble, and Mithos felt suddenly self-conscious.

“Well, It does have its uses, the robe helps with spell working, and it’s good for cold weather.” He explained, carefully picking his way over another tree root.

“Well, I’m sure that makes up for not being to walk without tripping.” She said before starting to walk away.

“Wait, Morrigan!” Mithos called to her retreating back.

“Speak.” She prompted harshly, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Your mother… She said the blight is a greater threat than we realise. What did she mean by that?” He asked hesitantly.

“The meaning seems quite clear. She does not believe your King to be adequately prepared.” The witch then gave a shrug. Thinking back to his meeting the King didn’t seem to be treating the darkspawn with much concern, but even so…

“But all of Ferelden’s Wardens are here, and most of the nation’s armies.” Mithos countered, somewhat weakly.

“If I recall, I don’t believe any blight has been beaten by a single nation before. Still, Mother is not infallible, perhaps she’s going senile.” Morrigan tapped her chin as if in thought.

“You think she’s losing her mind?”

“No, not really.” Morrigan shook her head disparagingly. “’Twould mean she is likely to die soon, and I doubt I would be that fortunate.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?” Came his astonished query. 

Morrigan gave no indication she had heard anything, starting off again with long and sure strides. Which left Mithos to pick his way through the mushy ground, trying to follow her path as best he could, back towards the camp. 

\--#--

True to the promise of the witch, Morrigan led the six weary wardens back to the Army’s encampment, parting ways with the wardens a few hundred metres outside of it. With a quick movement the witch transformed and sped away in a flurry of black feathers in the setting sun. 

Mithos pondered briefly what magic allowed her to shift as such, scrutinizing the retreating raven, _perhaps some combination of entropy and creation to break down and reconstitute a physical form, or a heretofore unknown application of primal magic_. He never would have guessed that the wild legends about shapeshifting hedge-mages were true.

Alistair led the group through the gate, the sentry on watch seemed tense, tightly gripping his spear as he waved them through. An anxious pall hung over the camp as the recruits followed Alistair towards Duncan’s tent. Mithos sidled towards Daveth.

“It’s not normally this tense here, is it?” He whispered, fearful of breaking some unspoken rule should he raise his voice too loudly.

“It’s been like this before, right around the time each battle started everyone got all quiet.” Daveth replied, an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face.

Mithos had known a battle was coming, Duncan had said as much, but he hadn’t expected it would be quite so soon. He swallowed around a nervous lump in his throat as he nodded in understanding.

“Duncan!” Alistair called to the Warden commander. Duncan was scribbling a message down as he stood beside a large bonfire. Looking up at Alistair’s call, he quickly passed the note off to an elven woman who scurried away hurriedly to pass it on.

“So you return from the wilds. Were you successful?” The commander asked the recruits. By way of answer Skala withdrew her phial of blood and held it towards Duncan. The red-black liquid seemed to almost writhe under the erratic light of the campfire. Duncan gave a quick nod.

“And the treaties?” he prompted

“Right, that’s me.” Alistair said before fumbling around with his pack for a few moments, finally withdrawing a scroll case emblazoned with a griffon. 

“Very well, Alistair, hold onto them for now. I need to confer with the mages to prepare for the joining.” Duncan explained as he reached out and took the phial offered by Skala.

One by one the Warden Commander moved amongst the group, taking each phial of blood in turn. Daveth passed his over with little fanfare, Jory had a particularly chuffed look as presented Duncan his blood. Fletcher grumbled under his breath as he roughly handed his over, receiving a glare from Duncan in return.

Finally Duncan came to Mithos and the young mage reached into his pocket, withdrawing his own phial. He gazed at the vessel in his hand, stomach churning slightly. Duncan had mentioned mages being involved and there was little doubt in Mithos’ mind as to the nature of the joining at this point. His mind wandered back to the icy cold room beneath the tower, and Jowan’s phylactery shattering, piercing the silence. 

“Mithos.” Duncan prompted, somewhat impatiently. 

Screwing his eyes shut and taking a breath, Mithos held the phial out, releasing it when he felt the burdensome weight disappear.

“I’ll summon you all when the joining is ready, until then Alistair, make sure no one gets into too much trouble.” There was something hidden beneath those words, but still worrying over the blood Mithos had no real time to dissect them. He was only aware dimly of Duncan’s receding footsteps, and Fletcher muttering something about his dog before leaving. 

“Mithos, are you alright?” He blinked at Skala’s question. The dwarf was standing in front of him, her brow furrowed slightly as she looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Oh, Skala, it’s alright, I’m ju-“ he began

“I hear elves often have weak constitutions, perhaps he picked something up when we were in the wilds.” Jory interjected bluntly, walking over and placing a palm on Mithos’ head, feeling his temperature.

“Uh, sir knight, you did see all the healing magic he was doing right? Don’t you think he’d just,” Daveth waved his hands in a pantomime of Mithos’ own spellcasting, “shwoo, and make a cold go away?”

Mithos stepped back, shaking off Jory’s hand.   
“I’m okay, I just have a bit on my mind.” He claimed, forcing a smile to try and mollify the others. 

Daveth and Jory began bickering with each other and Skala nudged Mithos. “You need to go for a walk?” She asked neutrally. 

“Yes, that might be good.” He agreed with a sigh.

“I’ll come too.” Alistair suggested

Mithos glanced towards Jory and Daveth, the former of whom was gesticulating wildly, growing progressively redder, whilst the latter sniggered. 

“Will they be alright alone?” He questioned the Warden.

Following his gaze, Alistair gave a shrug.   
“They’ll be fine, I think arguing is their way of destressing, it’s probably good for them. Still, best to get out of the way if you don’t want to get caught up, it’s happened to me too many times.” Alistair then shuddered like someone had dropped ice down his shirt.

“Well, I guess if you’re sure.” Mithos acquiesced reluctantly, a little unsure whether Duncan would approve. 

He walked off, flanked by Skala and Alistair.

The contrast to earlier in the day was clear. Whilst before the camp had been a constant hive of lively movement, an uneasy sense of quiet anticipation had by this point fallen over it. A breath held before plunging into the depths. 

There were many people huddled in small groups having hushed conversations, passing wineskins and flasks around and making last minute preparations for the battle to come. 

With Skala and Alistair beside him Mithos was not stopped by any humans demanding he perform some task or pass on a message, and the trio made easy progress through the encampment. He could almost feel Alistair’s curiosity and Skala’s quiet concern, but neither moved to start a discussion as they walked. 

Eventually they came to a ruined hall devoid of other people. Ancient pillars rising from the mossy earth and encircling them, muffling the noise from outside and the light from campfires, flickering in the distance.

Mithos walked through the ancient structure slowly, tracing his fingers along a seam in the masonry, the cool air had started to calm his mind a little, but his stomach was still twisted in knots. 

_Blood magic… why does it have to be blood magic?_ He sighed aloud and leaned against a pillar, directing his gaze upwards and beginning to pick out the first few stars appearing in the sky.

“I’m sorry for dragging you two out here.” He said, quietly.

“It was my idea.” Skala replied with a shrug.

“And, it’s fine really, I remember how nervous I was before my joining.” Alistair consoled with a slight chuckle. “Do you, uuum… want to talk about it?”

Mithos turned from the sky to look at Alistair, who had sat down on a large block of fallen stone, and was giving Mithos an encouraging smile.

“Alistair… the joining.” Mithos began uncertainly.

“yeees.” Alistair coaxed, waving Mithos to continue.

“It’s… blood magic, isn’t it?” Mithos asked haltingly.

The effect on Alistair was immediate, he paled slightly, and quickly turned away from Mithos’ gaze.   
“Well, that’s um, it’s ridiculous, really… if you think about it. Blood magic, blood mages.” He stammered.   
“You know, this one time, back when I was training… with the templars. I heard about this one maleficar who was hopelessly addicted to acorns, and he’d always ask people he met if they’d been to Val Royeaux, isn’t that strange?” He gave an unconvincing laugh.

Mithos leaned back against the pillar, and slowly shook his head.   
_Well, that confirms it then._. 

Alistair groaned and hung his head forward, realizing his lies would fool no one.   
“Duncan’s going to kill me.” He bemoaned.

“Why should it matter?” Skala asked Mithos bluntly.

“Why would it… Skala, blood magic is evil! Nothing good can come of it, you were there at the circle, you saw what it did to Jowan.” Mithos then looked down at the ring upon his finger, he traced the circle insignia with his thumb. “It destroyed him.” He whispered.

“Sorry but, who’s Jowan?” Alistair questioned after a pause.

Mithos drew a breath “He was… my best friend. He came to me the day after my harrowing. He told me that he’d met a girl, and fallen in love.” Mithos couldn’t stop the bitterness creeping into his voice. “But she was a chantry initiate. To stop them being together there were plans made to turn him tranquil, based on claims that he was a blood mage.”

“Maker…” Alistair breathed

“So, I agreed to help him, I couldn’t let him receive the brand. We snuck into the circle basement and… and we destroyed his phylactery so he could run away with his lover.” The shattering of glass echoed through Mithos’ mind once more. 

“When we got out, the templars were waiting, and so was the First Enchanter.” He felt Irving’s disappointed stare on him again and his vision blurred, so he shut his eyes again to stop the tears. 

“It turns out Jowan really was a blood mage, and I helped him. If not for Duncan recruiting me, I don’t know what would have happened.” His voice hitched and a hard lump in his throat felt like it was choking him. “That’s why it matters. Blood magic destroys everything and everyone in contact with it.”

“Alistair. Without the joining could there be Grey Wardens?” Skala prompted. Alistair, stunned by Mithos’ confession took a moment to respond.

“Well, no, there couldn’t be.” He stammered.

“Mithos, the darkspawn we saw today. Did you see what they were doing?” She questioned, voice low. 

“Well, yes, I did. They were killing people. They tried to kill us. Why are you asking me?” He answered haltingly, somewhat baffled by this turn in the conversation.

“Because that is not all they do!” Mithos flinched at the harshness of her tone. Although his eyes were still somewhat blurry with unshed tears he met her gaze. Skala normally seemed so calm, but there was a fire in her now that he hadn’t seen before.

“They don’t just kill. The darkspawn destroy.” A shiver went down Mithos’ spine at her statement, and he looked down at his boots.   
“They take everything you’ve ever made, any place you’ve called home, everyone you love, and they crush and poison it all.” Her voice built with intensity as she continued, rising to a near shout.  
“They cannot be reasoned with, and will not stop until there is nothing left!” A silence descended upon the ancient hall after Skala finished, the only sound was the wind whistling through the crumbled masonry.

The image of the circle tower aflame grew in his mind. Young apprentices running, screaming, from the monstrous horde and being cut down. Some desperate mage letting in a demon and becoming a monster himself. The First Enchanter desperately rallying those few still able to fight around himself, unleashing torrents of lightning and flame before an arrow hits his neck and his grey beard turns red.

Mithos continued to stare down at his boots, twisting his Circle ring about his finger until his skin began to stretch and sting. His restless hand was stilled as Skala put her own atop it. His eyes swiftly darted to her face, which was far calmer now.

“The Grey Wardens stand against the darkspawn. That’s why it shouldn’t matter how, someone needs to fight.” She said. 

“She’s right.” Alistair interjected.   
“There have been four blights before, each time the Grey Wardens have slain the Archdemon and ended it. And now, we must do it again.” Mithos didn’t think he had ever heard Alistair sound so genuinely proud. But even so, it didn’t sit quite right.

“Blood magic started the blights, how can it be used when it has created such an evil?” He defended.

“Some things we don’t do because they are the right thing to do. We do them because they are necessary.” Skala answered.   
“I know you don’t agree, you’ve seen the damage blood magic can cause. But trust me Mithos when I say, that what the darkspawn can do, what they have done, is far worse.” There was a slight hitch, a bump in her normally smooth cadence that caused Mithos to pause. He looked down to where her hand covered his ring and drew in a shuddering breath.

“Okay Skala. I trust you, I don’t like it, but… I’ll do the joining.” He squeezed her hand between his own, and she gave him a look of understanding and a slight nod.

“Finally, here you are.” Fletcher groaned loudly, strutting into the hall, hands resting behind his head.   
“Duncan says it’s time.” He then gave Alistair a toothy smirk   
“He seemed pretty annoyed that you left Daveth and Jory arguing in the middle of the camp. They caused quite the scene.” 

Alistair slumped forward and sighed dramatically. Mithos laughed a little then gave him a hand getting to his feet, and the four headed off to meet Duncan. 

\--#--

 

Alistair split off from the others, instructing them to wait in the temple whilst he assisted Duncan with the last few preparations. Approaching the old temple, Mithos heard familiar voices drifting through the air.

“I only know my wife is in Highever with a child on the way, if they had warned me… it just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Would you have come if they warned you? Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?” 

_I guess I’m not the only one who has been worried about the joining._

“Including sacrificing us!?” Jory shouted as the other Wardens came entered.

“The life of a Warden is sacrifice, sacrifice and duty.” Skala replied, Jory span to face her, nearly stumbling and falling over. Mithos could see his legs shaking. 

“Maybe you’ll die.” Daveth agreed.  
“Maybe we’ll all die.” He swept out his arms to indicate all five of the recruits.   
“If nobody stops the darkspawn, we’ll die for sure.”

“Speak for yourself Daveth.” Fletcher said snidely, crossing his arms.   
“I’m not dying.” 

“Oh yes, of course, _My Lord_ , nothing could ever kill you.” Daveth drawled in response. 

“I have a debt to repay to Howe. I’m not gonna die before I do.” Fletcher’s hand dropped to rest on the pommel of the Cousland sword hanging from his belt.   
“This ‘joining’ won’t stop me. Jory, you said you’d help me with that, so you better not die either.” He commanded.

“You are right, My Lord. I have simply never faced a foe I cannot engage with my blade.” Jory stammered.

“Well, you can tell who his favourite is.” Daveth whispered to Mithos and Skala. Mithos chuckled and Skala’s lips twitched upwards a fraction.

“At last we come to the joining.” Duncan’s presence immediately stifled all other conversation, as he and Alistair entered.

The Warden commander proceeded through the old temple slowly, each pace measured and constant. In his hands he held an enormous goblet, crimson-black blood sloshed within it with each step, yet Duncan was careful not to spill a drop. At the sight Mithos felt his stomach freeze, and he had to take a steadying breath.

Duncan moved before an altar at the end of the moonlit temple, Alistair in step beside him and gestured for the others to follow. The five recruits arranged themselves in a semicircle before Duncan. 

“The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.” Duncan intoned, his words sounding well practiced.

“We’re… going to drink the blood of those… creatures?” Jory’s voice sounded even more shaky than before.

“It’ll be alright Jory.” Mithos reassured.

“You can’t know that!” The human snapped back. 

“We drink the blood as the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory.” Duncan continued, ignoring the slight argument. 

“Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon.” Alistair interjected.

Mithos’ eyes widened, _If this is a cure to the taint, why is it not used more often?_

“Those who survive?” Skala asked.

“Not all those who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed. This is why the joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.” Duncan replied solemnly.

_I suppose that’s why it is not used then._

“We speak only a few words before the joining, but these words have been said since the first, Alistair, if you would?” Duncan stepped aside and the younger Warden took his place before the recruits. 

“Join us, brothers and sisters, join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry out a duty that cannot be forsworn.” Alistair’s voice sounded like a deliberate copy of Duncan’s own tone, he had his head bowed and a slight crinkle furrowed his brow.  
“And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.” 

Jory began to fidget as Alistair spoke, casting a glance at the goblet Duncan held, the shaking in his knees now so pronounced that his armoured legs were now producing clinking sounds. 

Duncan gave Alistair a nod of approval, and held the goblet out before himself.  
“Daveth, ste-“

His words were interrupted by Fletcher storming up to him, and casting a glare at the Warden Commander. The seven were still for a moment and Mithos half expected to Fletcher to try and stab Duncan with one of his arrows. 

Instead, Fletcher snatched the goblet of Duncan, still glowering at the Warden, and took a deep gulp from it. Ducan took the goblet back just as Fletcher began to shake violently, he wretched and fell to his knees, and Mithos could swear he saw his eyes roll back in his head. 

Tugging at the fade, Mithos’ hands lit up as he prepared to heal Fletcher.

“Stop, Mithos.” Duncan commanded, next to the convulsing Cousland, who tipped onto his side.   
“Magic will do no good. A warden must do this alone.” 

Mithos reluctantly fought his instincts and the spell dissipated. A few seconds later Fletcher grew still, and his breathing evened out. 

“He did it, he succeeded.” Alistair sighed with relief.

“Now, Daveth, step forward.” Duncan ordered softly, approaching Daveth and not even glancing at Fletcher lying by his feet.

“Well, if Fletcher could do it.” Daveth muttered before taking a more tentative sip from the cup.

A similar reaction to Fletcher fell over Daveth. Shaking and gagging he toppled to the ground. Yet he did not stop as Fletcher had, the convulsions grew worse and with a violent heave a gush of blood spilled from his mouth. Far more than he had drank. Then with a final wet breath his body seized up, and went still.

“I am sorry, Daveth.”

Heedless of Duncan’s earlier words Mithos dashed to crouch beside Daveth, desperately channeling healing power and drawing on Empathy’s strength. He reached out for Daveth with his magic, and felt nothing. 

A loud thump came from a few paces beside him. Jory’s corpse fell to the ground, bleeding heavily from a wound in his stomach. Duncan stood over him, bloody dagger in one hand. Mithos’ gaze darted to Alistair and then Skala both of whom were looking on sadly. 

“But the joining is not yet complete.” Duncan turned to Mithos, and he found himself rooted to the spot as Duncan approached. Gripping his arm firmly, Duncan pulled Mithos to his feet.

“You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.” He pushed the goblet into Mithos’ hands.

The blood within rippled as Mithos lifted the goblet, only half aware of his own actions. The vile stench of darkspawn hit his nose a moment before the blood hit his tongue.

He burned.


	9. Ishal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of Ostagar arrives, and the newly joined wardens are tasked with an important duty. One that Fletcher is none too pleased with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I haven't been here in a while *sets down chapter gently then crawls back to the depths from which I came*.

“Fucking Wardens.” Fletcher muttered, scraping the mud off his boot on a nearby fallen brick. “Fucking wardens. Fucking battle.” He continued ranting to himself, as he squelched onwards through the ruins of Ostagar. 

He grimaced as his boot sank into an unexpectedly deep puddle, covering it with mud all over again. He then sighed and ran a sopping wet hand through his drenched hair, trying to remove some of the water built up in it. He looked up at the sky with a frown _of course it has to be raining, even the Maker couldn’t give me a break!_

“Fletcher, keep up, we have a mission to complete.” Skala nagged at him. 

A joyous outcome of being a survivor of the joining was that now he had to listen to the damn dwarf, since Duncan had put her in charge of the oh-so-important mission of lighting a bloody torch. He didn’t even have Mack to lend an ear, since the kennel master had claimed the dog needed time to rest and process the medicine so he could immunize himself. 

_If Mack was here, he might be able to give Skala a bite on the rear when she nagged._

It was truly ridiculous, Fletcher thought. That a Cousland like him had to take orders from some no-name dwarf. If he wasn’t duty bound by his Father’s dying words then he likely would have ditched the other wardens by this point already. But because the ‘Couslands always do their duty’ he was stuck here, relegated to trudging through mud, playing errand boy to light a torch. 

He let his mind drift as he pictured stabbing Howe through the eye and a slight smile grew on his face at the pleasant thought. 

Which promptly turned to a scowl as he stumbled into the solid, metallic bulk of Alistair, who barely even seemed to take notice of the noble running into him.

“Hey, watch it!” Fletcher snapped. Alistair whirled back towards him with a finger pressed to his lips for silence.

“Shhh. Do you feel that?” he whispered, the four Wardens had huddled together so it wasn’t too difficult to be heard over the rain. 

“Something… feels wrong.” Mithos agreed, closing his eyes as if straining to listen to something. 

Now that his attention had been drawn to it Fletcher could feel something, like an itch crawling along his forearms. Although it felt stronger in a certain direction, where the itch grew more akin to a burning sensation, like bites from a dozen ants. He unconsciously scratched as he looked in that direction.

“Darkspawn.” Skala muttered. She had one hand resting over the hilt of the blade rested upon her shoulder. 

_So this was the Wardens’ ability to sense darkspawn._ Fletcher’s skin crawled even more when he considered that he was now tainted, there really was no going back. He was a Warden. 

“Fletcher, go scout it out.” Skala tersely ordered. 

“What, why me?” Fletcher complained. 

Skala raised a brow and looked at herself and Alistair in their heavy armour and then at the decidedly brightly dressed Mithos. Taking her point Fletcher sighed and skulked off. 

He hung to the shadows as he sneaked through the ruins, he’d barely moved a hundred metres when the noise reached him, and then with a gust of wind the stench.

“NO NO PLEASE! PLEASE I HAVE A FA-” a wet crunch cut off the frantic plea causing Fletcher to flinch slightly, and an iron rich and fetid stench assaulted his nose. 

With easy movements he pulled himself up a nearby wall, careful to not let his fingers slip in the rain. Beyond his perch he saw the darkened monolith of the Tower of Ishal rising from the ruins, half a dozen Darkspawn were outside it, two perched on a watchtower of some sort and the rest huddled around something, from the faint fleshy tearing noises Fletcher could quite easily guess what. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and made his way back to the others. 

“Fletcher, what does it look like?” Alistair asked anxiously upon his return.

“Outside? about half a dozen spawn. But who can say how many there are inside? I didn’t see anyone rushing out of the tower to get rid of them. They weren’t exactly quiet either.” Fletcher answered, quickly testing his bow’s draw, hoping it wouldn’t slip in his wet fingers. 

“But how? There aren’t supposed to be any darkspawn this far from the battle!” Alistair exclaimed. 

“Oh wow, I bet they’re just lost, you should tell them that.” Fletcher drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Very funny.” Alistair deadpanned. “It looks like we’ll have to go light the beacon ourselves.”

“You’re right Alistair.” Skala agreed. “We’ll take the ones outside quickly, we have surprise on our side. Fletcher” her head whipped to face the archer “did they have any lookouts?” She snapped. 

“Yeah. Two.” Fletcher rankled a little at her tone, but kept himself from snipping back at her, barely. 

Skala thought for a moment. “Fletcher, take Mithos, you two can go and kill the lookouts, then the rest will be easy to take down.” 

Although it was a sound plan Fletcher still grumbled at having to babysit the elf. Mithos gave him an apologetic smile and he led the wardens towards the tower. He and Mithos branched off to get a better shot at the lookouts.

“Okay E-Mithos, think you can manage to hit one of those two?” Fletcher pointed to the two Darkspawn atop the wooden platform. 

“I… yes, I’ll try” Mithos replied with a firm nod. He unsheathed his staff and light began to build at the end of it. 

Fletcher at the same time knocked an arrow and drew back. 

“You go for the one on the left. Got it?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Without giving a signal Fletcher loosed his arrow, a split second later Mithos’ mage bolt streaked after it. Fletcher was unsurprised that his shot caught one spawn through the eye, dropping it dead. Mithos also managed to land a shot on his target’s head and the second spawn thumped down a split second after the first. 

“I, I hit it.” Mithos whispered with a sigh of relief. 

Fletcher had to admit it was a good shot for the mage, he wouldn’t tell him that though. 

The clanking of armour drew his sight forward as he saw Skala and Alistair charging towards the remaining few darkspawn. Who only just noticed the approaching warriors, and were hurriedly standing from their impromptu feast. 

“Like I’ll let them have the glory.” Fletcher said. In a smooth movement he knocked, drew, aimed and fired, felling another spawn, although not as quickly as his first, as the creature was able to let out a ragged cry as it fell. 

A moment later a ring of light appeared beneath the remaining three spawn, flinging them apart and making them easy targets for Alistair and Skala’s blades. 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Fletcher commented, raising his brows at Mithos.

“Well, I’d read about it. I’ve never really gotten to try much knowledge in a practical setting before now.” Mithos explained, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head before giving a slight awkward laugh. “I guess I’m not really an experienced fighter, not like you with your bow.” 

“Well, at least you can be somewhat useful. I guess.” Fletcher admitted, and Mithos beamed beside him. It still didn’t make up for the elf’s past failures, but if he could be useful in combat, at least it was something.

Not wanting to dwell on the moment Fletcher brusquely walked past Mithos and led the way back to Alistair and Skala by the tower’s entrance. Skala raised a hand in a quick greeting before diving into orders.

“We’ll be moving quickly but thoroughly, take anything of use as we move, and make sure you pick off Darkspawn we come across, we don’t need any sneaking up behind us when we’re half way up the tower.” She explained, Alistair gave her a serious look of understanding. Fletcher thought it was a bit much considering how obvious and basic her plan was. It really just amounted to ‘walk up the tower and kill everything’. 

“Fletcher, we may be in close confines, so your bow will be less useful. Can you fight with that sword of yours?” She quickly asked.

He couldn’t but he’d hardly admit it to her.

“It won’t matter, tight hallways just mean there’ll be less places for them to dodge my shots.” He answered instead. 

“Which could ricochet and hit any one of us.” She answered with furrowed brows. Speaking slowly and deliberately as if he were an idiot.

“Trust me, I’m a better shot than that.” He answered instead, dearly hoping that she might catch a ricocheted arrow in her pompous behind. 

“Just use this instead.” She pressed a dagger into his hand before walking into the tower. Alistair and Mithos trailed after her like a pair of lost dogs. 

Fletcher just rolled his eyes and flung the dagger over his shoulder, he readied his bow and prayed once more for a lucky ricochet before heading inside.

\--#--

Unfortunately with the amount of darkspawn infesting the tower of Ishal Fletcher lacked the time to try and hope for a lucky ricochet, and was instead focusing his all on trying to simply kill the beasts in front of himself.

Floor after floor the four wardens found nothing but corpses of men, women and hounds, and of course endless hordes of ravenous monsters. With each flight of steps the group began to flag more. 

Alistair’s posture began to droop, his shield, normally held high, was being dropped low between each violent bout. Skala’s Proud stride faltered, and her movements stiffened from the numerous bruises and minor gashes that she refused to let Mithos heal for fear of him exhausting his mana supply. Mithos swayed in his steps, balance becoming precarious having consumed two vials of lyrium to continue powering his spells. 

Fletcher counted his arrows once more and found he only had eight of the two dozen he’d started with in his quiver. Even carefully trying to remove used arrows still resulted in many breakages, and distantly he feared what would happen when his last shaft had snapped. 

He regretted throwing away the dagger a little, not much, but a little. Skala’s judgmental stare at his continued use of his bow even within the tower tamped down on how much guilt he really felt. 

“Okay, the beacon should be just beyond this stairway.” Alistair declared as the group approached the way to the tower’s top floor.

A great thump sounded from above, causing a vibration to rattle through the stone of the tower. Mithos stumbled for a moment and nearly slipped on the blood slicked floor. Fletcher involuntarily stiffened. _Whatever made that noise sounds a lot bigger than a darkspawn_.

“That’s an ogre.” Skala whispered, almost to herself.

“The hell is an ogre!?” Fletcher shot back, severely discomforted by the noises that continued to sound from above.

Skala whirled on him gesturing violently for silence. “Enormous darkspawn, more than three metres tall. It has dangerous horns and is prone to charging anything that moves. Don’t let it grab you, or you’re done for.” She explained quietly. 

“Great, how are we supposed to kill something like that?” Fletcher demanded, visions of a hulking grey monster swimming in his mind. 

“Ducan said that ogres aren’t very smart. We may be able to distract it, or trick it somehow.” Alistair suggested, copying Skala’s quiet tone.

“Great then, Alistair, you can be the distraction. Mithos can Freeze its legs and skala will lop it in half with one swing of her sword. I’ll be down here not dying!” Fletcher hissed back with a glare.

“Maybe you should be the distraction Fletcher, so we can all get some peace and quiet.” Alistair replied angrily.

“That might work…” Skala muttered to herself.

“What, you’re not serious, right!?” Fletcher gaped at the dwarf as she stroked her chin in thought. Ignoring his flabbergasted response, Skala turned to Mithos.

“Mithos, that spell you did outside on those spawn, would it work on something bigger?” She asked. 

“I think it should, some very large forces have been known to power through the glyph before, at least based upon Senior Enchanter Deval’s research. But not many.” He haltingly explained, nervously fingering the shaft of his staff.

“Okay.” Skala nodded. “I think I have a plan.”

\--#--

_Fucking Wardens. Fucking Ogre. Fucking Skala!_

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’ll be okay.” Mithos whispered from where he was crouched behind some rubble beside Alistair. The warrior was readying his blade and looking way too pleased about Fletcher’s role in the plan. 

The ogre was crouched halfway across the room from Fletcher, face buried in… something Fletcher thought might have once been a human, but was now nothing more than a grisly chunk of flesh. 

Get its attention, that was his job. Of course, he felt confident he could end the oaf then and there.

Raising up his bow Fletcher took aim at the ogre. The room was sheltered enough that there was no wind to account for, so lining up his shot for the nape of the neck was easy enough.   
_That should put the damn thing down easy enough._

Fletcher released his shot, sending the arrow flying across the room. Right before it hit the ogre however the beast jerked its head back, tearing a lump of flesh from its meal, sending the arrow off course to lodge itself in the meat of the beast’s shoulder.

A stream of blood dripped down from the arrow wound as the ogre stumbled to its feet awkwardly. The darkspawn dropped its food to the ground and bellowed a roar. Its beady eyes and misshapen head swung to face Fletcher with fury. The creature stomped the ground and screamed at the archer before lowering its head.

“Mithos.” Fletcher snapped at the mage as the beast began charging.

A curving glyph lit up the floor beneath Fletcher and he felt a strange tingle run up his legs through the soles of his shoes. 

“Shit.” Fletcher hissed. Seeing the ogre nearly upon him he dropped himself flat, belly pressing to the ground in his panic. 

He couldn’t see anything, yet he heard the footsteps grow thunderously loud before, with a confused grunt they stopped. A gust of air blew over his back and then he heard the almighty crash of something huge heaving slamming into the wall behind him. 

Fletcher hastily hopped to his feet and brushed himself down, hoping to quickly move past the embarrassing moment. Turning to look at the ogre he saw the it had fallen by the wall, yet it was beginning to struggle to its feet. 

Alistair sprinted to the beast with surprising speed considering his armoured bulk, and plunged his sword into its side. The ogre began to thrash and roar and Alistair yelped as he struggled to hold onto his sword. 

From its other side Skala drew her own greatsword and stabbed the sword through the darkspawn’s meaty neck. 

“Hold it steady Alistair.” She commanded. The human grunted as he struggled to do so, yet within moments the ogre’s strength began to drain away alongside its blood and its writhing subsided until it lay still and unbreathing. 

Alistair chuckled disbelievingly. “Well, that went better than expected. Good plan Skala.”

“No time to dwell on it.” She replied, starting to pull her sword out of the dead darkspawn’s body. “Mithos, get the beacon.” She ordered.

“Oh, yes.” Mithos chirped as he ran over to the beacon by a collapsed wall. Fletcher couldn’t hear what he said, but the mage appeared to be muttering something and concentrating far more fiercely than he had on his earlier spells. After a few seconds a tiny ball of fire appeared in his hand, and he lowered it to the kindling of the beacon’s fire. 

Judging by the rate at which flames engulfed the, wood Fletcher guessed it must have been oil soaked earlier. Perhaps by the person who the ogre had been snacking upon. 

“Oh… oh no.” Mithos whimpered from by the beacon. The Mage was peering through the gap in the wall, one hand tightly gripping his staff, the other upon the crumbled masonry, both ivory white as they clenched.

Fletcher quickly jogged over to the mage to see what had spooked him so much. Looking through the broken wall Fletcher spied a group of several dozen darkspawn swarming the entrance of the tower. If he concentrated hard enough he could even feel the monstrous swarm below him. 

It’d be a matter of minutes before they reached the top of the tower.

He did also notice however that the rain had stopped. The walls of the tower were somewhat slick and shone in the moonlight, revealing their pitted and cracked outer surface. 

“Skala, there’s more coming, they’re coming from outside the tower.” Mithos stammered, clearly fearful.

“Keep calm Mithos. How many did you see out there?” She asked, coming to stand by the elf.

“At least three dozen. More than we can handle at once.” Fletcher interrupted grimly, only taking a moment to glance at Skala before looking once more to the outer wall of the tower. From that glance he could see a grim and resigned look cloud over Skala’s features.

“Then we will face them here.” She told the other wardens.

“I’m with you, Skala.” Alistair agreed.

“Are you mad!? We can’t fight that many!” Fletcher objected incredulously. Glancing between the two warriors he saw them both wearing the same grim expression. Mithos appeared somewhat more worried, but still stood by them. 

“I’m sure we can, Fletcher. If we work together, we should be able to beat them.” Mithos forced a smile before reaching to the pouch on his belt and withdrawing a vial of slightly glowing blue liquid which he downed with a grimace. A moment later he staggered on his feet and grabbed onto Alistair’s arm to keep himself upright.

“Mithos, are you okay?” Alistair gripped the mage by his shoulders to help steady him. 

“Just… some lyrium… it’ll help.” Mithos struggled to say between deep breaths, eventually steadying himself “not had quite this much so quickly before.”

“See, Skala? Mithos can barely stand up, we need to get out of here, if we stay, we’ll die.” Fletcher spat.

“There is one way in and out of this room Fletcher, through that door.” Skala pointed to the door by the stairwell. “And it’ll soon be swarmed with darkspawn who’ll-”

“We can climb out through the hole in the wall. The outside of the tower’s got plenty of foot and hand holds.” Fletcher interjected, not bothering to let her finish talking down to him.

Skala quickly moved to investigate the outer wall, she barely glanced down before looking up at Fletcher and gave a rough shake of her head. “We couldn’t make it. Not in armour, and Mithos certainly couldn’t make the climb either right now.” Fletcher’s felt a bubbling anger as the dwarf moved back towards the other two wardens and began making orders for the fight. She was ignoring him, ignoring his idea. 

“No. We should leave. Just because you have a death-wish doesn’t mean we should all die.” Fletcher snarled.

“Fletcher, I think Skala may be right. We can’t make it down there.” Mithos said, now standing a lot more firmly. 

“I agree. At least this way we’ll… stand a chance.” Alistair added haltingly, clearly not wanting to voice what they all knew. They were dead either way.

“You know what, I’m not dying here.” Fletcher snapped before turning to the wall and beginning to shamble out. Only half out the hole and gusts of wind were already picking at him violently.

“Fletcher! Get back in here now!” Skala ordered harshly, more angered than Fletcher thought he’d ever heard her. Rather than heeding her commands however, he hastened his climb to get out of reach so the dwarf couldn’t try to pull him back up to that death trap.

“I won’t die for this, not for the bloody wardens.” He muttered to himself as he climbed down. The calls of the others for his return grew fainter and within a few metres of climbing, their words were lost to the wind.

He did however feel all his skin heating and crawling violently, the sensation of which was so powerful he nearly lost his grip on the tower wall. The horde he’d seen from outside were close. 

A few seconds later he heard the clash of weaponry and a strange tingle of magic that reached him even where he was, however in less than a minute it all cut out completely. 

He just stared at the wall as he climbed, not thinking of what had just happened. Of how close he’d been to meeting his end at the top of the tower. He just kept climbing and blocking out the thoughts.

_I’ll get down. I’ll find Mack. I’ll figure something out._

He didn’t notice the enormous creature that landed on top of the tower when he was half way down. He didn’t hear the dying and burning darkspawn. He didn’t see the beast fly off clutching three figures. He just kept climbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PARTY SPLIT!!!!


	10. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two wardens awaken in an unfamiliar place, and must face the reality of their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Places the chapter down and scurries away into the depths.*

A flash of dark scales rose before Mithos’ eyes. A beast with skin wrinkled and withered unnaturally, yet still alive. It’s greying hide rumbled as the beast roared, and spewed forth cloying purple flames past jagged fangs. When it roared Mithos swore it almost sounded like words. Almost, yet not quite, like a conversation happening two rooms over. The sound left an uncomfortable oily feeling over his skin, and he desperately wanted to back away from the creature.

The monster swayed its long head towards him, the monster’s milky white eyes connected with his own. As he stared, frozen, at the dragon, he realized what it was. Beauty inverted. Archdemon Urthemiel.

Mithos jerked back and found himself falling, with a thump his back collided with rocky, undulating ground. He blinked rapidly, his eyes taking in the grey-green sky stretching above. Twisted and jagged black spires rose in the corner of his vision, and he released a breath that didn’t truly exist.

“The fade. I’m in the fade.” He reassured himself, he was away from the Archdemon and in the fade somehow. _Or did it pull me from here?_ The implications of such power sent a shiver down the mage’s spine.

 _How did I get here?_ A stab of phantom pain from an arrow gave him a stark reminder and drew forth a grunt of discomfort. The tower, so many darkspawn… too many. Breathing through it he quickly challenged some healing energy to soothe away the feeling, but his heart rate only seemed to increase as he recalled what happened in the Tower of Ishal vividly.

“Am I… dead?” he whispered to himself.

“Please, my friend. Be calm, do not fear so.” 

A large chunk of Mithos’ anxiety melted away at the sound of the rasping voice. Willing himself standing he turned to face his friend and sighed in relief at the familiar being.

“Empathy! Thank the Maker, it is good to see a familiar face.” He said, feeling a bit calmer, but not enough to fully still his hammering pulse.

“You are not dead Mithos. Almost, but not so. Your soul nearly passed by, but it was anchored against the currents of death.” Empathy croaked, moving rapidly around the elf with fearful energy

Mithos made a further effort to calm himself for the spirit’s sake, given how emotions tended to effect it. But given the news of having almost died it was not an easy task.

“It is… scary. But you are here. You are still here now. The dead do not linger.” Empathy reassured, still sounding ill at ease.

Mithos took a few deep breaths to steady himself and calm down. If Empathy said that he wasn’t dead, that something had saved him, then he’d be alright. Yet it did raise a question.

“If something kept me alive, do you know what it was? Magic from a spirit maybe?” Mithos asked, hoping for some clarity on the whole situation. 

“No. There was no stirring of other spirits nearby.” Empathy replied. 

Mithos hummed in thought and willed a chair into being to sit upon. “But… what then? What could be so powerful?” he mumbled to himself. Empathy paced slowly around him as he thought. The wet slap of the spirit’s feet upon the stone floor beneath kept time like a metronome. _Maybe some powerful potion, but it would have to be exceptional to bring someone back from the brink. If not, a mage with enough Lyrium might manage it alone, or maybe even blood magic-_ Empathy’s steps staggered at the notion as Mithos sucked in a breath, he dearly hoped not, else his life may have been bought at a steep cost. 

A shiver swept over Mithos and he felt himself detach from the chair he sat upon, and slip between realms, awakening with a jolt.

He stared up once more, this time not at a grey-green sky and ebony spires, but at a rough timber roof. A savory scent wafted through the air, it was pleasant and, in a way, reminded him of nights on the road with Duncan and Skala, lying upon the ground as the campfire crackled nearby.

But the ground wasn’t soft, he belatedly realized he was in a bed. Another warm weight pressed against his side, he looked, and with a start realized he was sharing a bed with Skala. With a yelp of embarrassment, he sprung from the bed only to break out in goose bumps as chill air prickled at his skin. Realising he was in only his smallclothes, his head swiveled back and forth quickly looking for something to cover himself with.

Raucous laughter rang from the corner of the room, directing his gaze there, he spied an old woman sitting in the corner, head thrown back as she chuckled.

“Well now, that was a stronger reaction than I expected. It’s always lovely when the world gives a surprise, especially at my age.” The woman quipped, calming her laughter, and eyeing Mithos up and down, causing his face to redden.

“My robes, are they…?” He didn’t anticipate them to have been salvaged, they’d likely been ruined by the several arrows that struck him. Although, glancing down at his bare chest he could perceive no scarring from his wounds. Even the best healers normally left some mark, albeit temporary. Yet it was as if he hadn’t been struck at all. _I was hit, wasn’t I?_

“Busy admiring yourself lad?” The old woman teased, jerking Mithos out of his thoughts. “Your clothes are in the trunk over by the end of the bed.” She then explained, nodding towards the aforementioned trunk. 

He quickly opened the container and redonned his clothing. Strangely the robes appeared without any damage and completely clean, even the mud from travelling through the wilds had vanished from them. 

Pushing aside such ponderings for later, he surveyed where he had awoken, it was some sort of small wooden shack. There were two beds one of which he had been sharing with Skala, the other was occupied by Alistair, both were unconscious, but he could see the rise and fall of their chests, allaying his worse fears. 

One wall was taken up in part by a large hearth, over which a pot hung, issuing forth steam. Much of the rest of the room was taken up by a few battered shelves with books scattered haphazardly on and around them. Morrigan’s mother sat in the corner of the room, now watching him intently.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but where exactly are we… and how did we get here?” Mithos asked the woman. 

“I managed to retrieve the three of you from the Tower in Ostagar, as for where you are, you are in my house. Do take care not to mess it up.” The woman teased, with a threatening undercurrent. 

“Was there anyone else, a fourth person at the tower?” Mithos inquired hopefully.

“None that I saw aside from the three of you. Perhaps your fourth is still yet to be found.” The old woman stared off into space for a moment “Will three be enough? Perhaps… Two would have worked, but any more and the cup might overflow.” She muttered to herself. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” Mithos said, shuffling awkwardly at the odd proclamation.

“You need not follow yet,” Morrigan’s Mother replied. She then glanced at the figures in the bed “and perhaps you need not lead either, how fortunate for you, young man. Now is there not something else you should be saying to me?” She raised an eyebrow expectantly, seemingly back in the present.

Mithos floundered for a second before catching her meaning. “Right, um, thank you miss…” he trailed off, realizing that he had not yet been given the woman’s name.

“Flemeth will suffice, lad.” 

Flemeth. A witch in the Korcari Wilds known as Flemeth… it couldn’t be a simple coincidence, but the legend claimed that Flemeth was over 600 years old. Such a thing couldn’t truly be possible.

“You have a name with… quite a history.” He answered politely. This only seemed to amuse Flemeth, who threw her into more peals of laughter, which she calmed from in an unnervingly abrupt manner.

“One might say that, but a name is simply a pretty label, what people may say of it, and what they may now say of me, is beyond my control.” She stared with an intensity that only increased Mithos’ discomfort.

“If you’re the Flemeth, then you must be very old and powerful.” He stated.

“Age and power are relative.” She explained with a smirk. “Compared to you… yes, on both counts.” 

Mithos felt awed, uncomfortable, but awed. This woman had a grasp of magic, and power, beyond anything he’d ever observed, that much was clear from how the fade reacted to her alone. There was so much she could teach, that she could share with the world. _But how much of what she knows should be shared? How much evil is there in it?_ a voice niggled in the back of his head. Mithos swallowed and tried to resolutely ignore the voice.

“If that is so… could I ask you a few questions?” He hesitantly requested.

“Oh, looking for secrets old Flemeth has cooked up over the years? They would do you little good, I am not like your circle with its books, you see. Not that I wouldn’t mind having a handsome lad to order around for a few years.” She chuckled as she rebuffed Mithos gently. 

“I… understand, perhaps there is something I can do to help my friends while I wait for them to awaken.” He began to make his way over towards the beds and pulled at the fade for healing energy.

“That will not be needed young man.” Flemeth interrupted. “Kind though the sentiment may be, one must learn where kindess is needed. Your fellow wardens will recover in good time, and there is little you could do to help them right now.”

Mithos released the spell he had begun, the first sparks of restorative light dissipating from his fingertips. “Sorry, it’s just difficult to stand idle whilst they’re in such a state.” He slumped a little “Perhaps I should try and join up with the rest of the Grey Wardens and let them know we’re okay… has it been long since the battle?” Mithos suggested.

“That would not be possible.” Flemeth replied.

“What do you mean, not possible? How long has it been?” He asked in somewhat of a panic.

“It is not a matter of time, but of circumstance. I am afraid the Grey Wardens lost the battle, it was not you alone that was overwhelmed. I am sorry.” She said. 

Mithos took a step back, feeling suddenly cold, then took another and bumped against the wall. “Then the darkspawn.” He breathed. The same fears of the tower aflame, and everyone dying to those beasts flew through his mind once more. He slid down the rough wooden wall until he sat upon the ground “Is there nothing to be done then?” 

“There is always something to be done, but such plans are better left for when your friends awaken.”

Mithos glanced towards where Alistair and Skala slept, feeling a little jealous of how peacefully they could rest feeling so oblivious. Although he deeply feared how harshly Alistair would take the deaths of the Wardens he hoped they would awaken soon. 

\--#--

“I do believe mother informed you of the futility of such actions did she not?” 

“It’s not like I’m using magic, I’m just checking vitals to make sure that they’re okay.”

Alistair felt his wrist being lifted and some slight pressure being applied. He heard a ‘tisk’ sound fill the air.

“They will be fine, and your constant bothering is more likely to simply aggravate them” 

Alistair swatted at the hand holding his, wishing that people would just leave him alone to sleep for a few minutes longer.

“Alistair, Alistair, can you hear me? Are you awake?” excited questions filled the air, causing Alistair to shift and grumble groggily. He shifted himself upwards with a bit of effort and pried his gritty eyes open. Pale grey eyes met his gaze as Mithos smiled at him.

“Mithos? What’s going on? Weren’t we supposed to be in the tower to light the signal?” He sleepily asked, but even as he did so he realized there was something wrong with the question. They _had_ been in the tower. Fletcher had run and a whole horde of darkspawn had attacked the three of them, he remembered a sharp pain in the back of his head. _Must have knocked me out. Duncan won’t let me hear the end of it, he always says I need to guard my right flank better._

“Guess you and Skala managed to take care of the darkspawn, just uh… don’t tell Duncan about my maybe less-than-stellar performance at the end there.” Alistair chuckled awkwardly. Mithos’ eyes drifted away from meeting the other warden’s and his face became downcast. 

“Uh, but no need to worry.” Alistair floundered for a moment, fearing he had upset the elf. “I’m fine now, your healing really patched me up there.” He stretched his arms over his head to prove so, and found no stiffness or lingering pain. 

“Alistair, I-“

“Good, you are awake. One more and then I shall not need to play host any longer.” Another voice interrupted Mithos. 

Alistair quickly found the new speaker, the dark-haired witch from the wilds. His face quickly morphed into a scowl as he stared her down. Regardless of what Duncan might say he couldn’t believe apostates like her could be anything but trouble.

“You.” He growled “What are you doing here?” 

“Such hostility. The better question is ‘what are _you_ doing here?’ ‘Tis my house we are in, after all.” The witch snarked. 

Alistair bit back a reply as he took in his surroundings, they appeared to be in some type of cottage, not the warden camp where he would have expected to awaken. Skala was asleep in the bed beside him, not responding to all the discussion. 

“Um, Morrigan, I’m sorry but would you mind giving us privacy for a little while?” Mithos hesitantly asked the witch, who rolled her eyes in response. 

“Very well, I suppose I would not desire to suffer the fool’s company any longer. I will be outside.” The witch drawled, before casually sauntering out of the room. Alistair eyes shot daggers at her back as she left.

He took a second to compose himself before addressing Mithos once more.   
“Mithos, not to give Morrigan the satisfaction or anything. But… what _are_ we doing here?”

Mithos avoided his gaze. The elf’s eyes were directed downwards towards his hands where he was twisting the band sitting upon his right ring finger nervously. 

“Mithos?” He prompted, unease rising rapidly in his gut.

“You remember the tower, Alistair? The beacon that we had to light… and the darkspawn that came?” Mithos asked slowly, still not looking up from his fidgeting hands. 

Alistair nodded in confirmation, the bad feeling sweeping over him becoming ever stronger as the elf continued.

“Well, the darkspawn… we… didn’t defeat them” He whispered.

“What? Mithos if we didn’t defeat them, then how are we here now? The darkspawn wouldn’t just give up an assault like that.” Alistair questioned.

“It was Morrigan’s mother, supposedly she saved us. It was her that healed our wounds too. If it wasn’t for her, then we would probably be dead by now.” A cold breeze knifed through the cabin at the elf’s dark words, but Alistair couldn’t really believe them, despite the grim atmosphere. 

“Oh come on, the crazy old lady who had the treaties? If you’re going to try and trick me like that, you’d better at least try and tell a believable lie.” Alistair joked, smiling a little. “Did someone put you up to this?” He gave Mithos a friendly nudge in the ribs, but the elf just shook his head, finally raising his eyes to look at Alistair.

“I’m not joking Alistair.” He said seriously. “She saved us and took us back here to heal us, she hasn’t told me exactly why though.”

If that was true, then things must have been pretty bad, and Morrigan’s mother also rose another few notches on the ‘deadly apostate who should be avoided at any cost’ scale. Alistair reflected. But it wouldn’t explain how guilty Mithos was acting. 

“Okay, okay. Not a joke, got it. But still, we’re all fine now, thanks to Morrigan’s mother, creepy as that sounds. So you don’t need to get so worried.” Alistair placated, giving Mithos a pat on the back, although having recently awoken his co-ordination was a little off and he caused Mithos to flinch a little with the force. “Ah, sorry about that.” He mumbled.

Mithos took a deep breath and his left hand twitched towards his ring, but the elf aborted the movement, instead moving to hold Alistair’s hands in his own. 

“Alistair… you’re my friend. And we’re both Grey Wardens, and no matter what, I promise that I’ll stick with you and Skala, even if things become difficult or dangerous… again.” The elf vowed, and Alistair raised a brow at the strange seriousness of the gesture. Although he supposed that nearly dying could make people act a bit odd. 

“Riiiight.” He drawled. 

“This may be difficult to hear Alistair, but like I said, you’re not alone here.” Mithos continued to ramble on.

“Look, all these assurances are great, and I appreciate them, I really do… but could you let me know what’s actually going on, you’re starting to worry me a little.” 

“Right, I… you know how the signal we lit in the tower was meant to alert Teryn Loghain’s troops to join the battle and cut off the darkspawn.” Mithos looked up to Alistair for confirmation.

“Yes.” He nodded, not liking where this conversation seemed to be heading. 

“When the beacon was lit, the Teryn’s forces retreated. They left the Grey Wardens and the King to fight the darkspawn alone. I’m sorry Alistair, they couldn’t win… they were wiped out.” Alistair heard the words but his mind couldn’t really put them together, it took a few seconds before the connection finally clicked into place. 

“They, no. Mithos, you’re lying please tell me you’re lying!” He dropped Mithos’ grip on his hands and roughly grabbed him by the shoulders, desperately looking him in the eyes for some sign, a diversion of gaze for a lie, a slight twitch for this all being some awful joke, anything to let him know that this wasn’t the truth. 

Mithos didn’t waver.

“I’m sorry Alistair, I really wish I was lying.” He breathed, voice hitching as he spoke. 

“Duncan.” Alistair whispered to himself. His eyes stung and his throat burned and he couldn’t stop sobbing. Mithos hugged him tightly and let him cry for those that were gone.

\--#--

It took close to half an hour before Alistair was able to force himself to speak any words, as sobs and gasps tore at his throat. But eventually he managed to calm himself a little, although thoughts and memories of Duncan, that he was gone, wouldn’t leave him.

“You said he saved you, from tranquility.” Alistair inquired, and felt Mithos shift slightly from the hug that he’d been holding. 

“You mean Duncan.” The elf supplied quietly. An odd silence had settled over the room in the wake of Alistair’s despair, and it felt oddly wrong to break it with any loud noises.

“Yeah, Duncan.” He rasped, throat feeling incredibly sore. “He… sort of saved me too.” Alistair confessed. 

“Did you set a maleficar loose too?” Mithos joked, causing a laugh to build in Alistair, but quickly turned into a cough as it slipped past his lips. 

“Not quite that dramatic, no. But I was in training to be a templar, would’ve gotten all that nasty lyrium addiction stuff, and I didn’t have enough faith in the cause to make up for it. I wasn’t happy there… don’t think I’d ever really been happy for a while. Not since Aemon had to leave me to the chantry.” Alistair continued.

“Aemon?” Mithos asked, voice still soft and next to Alistair.

“The Arl of Redcliffe, I lived in the castle as a ward when I was a child. Of course that had to end when rumours started that I was his bastard, the Arlessa didn’t appreciate those much.” He explained, and Mithos took in the words for a moment, then drew a breath to ask a question before stopping himself. Alistair could guess what it would have been. “No, the rumours weren’t true. I’m just your garden variety regular bastard. The Arl is just a good man, kind enough to take in the kid of a serving girl at his castle.” He lied, wishing things were that simple.

“Anyway, Duncan, when he recruited me, he gave me a home with the Wardens. It’d been years since I’d really had that… Maker, now it’s gone, now they’re all gone.” Alistair’s shoulders heaved and he sobbed violently once more, eyes threatening to spill more tears.

“I know how much it hurts to lose a home like that… we’ll make sure they’re remembered Alistair, the Wardens won’t end with them.” Mithos consoled Alistair as he rubbed soothing circles into his back. 

“I think he said he came from Highever, like Fletcher.” Maker, Alistair wasn’t even really sure of where Duncan was from. There was so much more he wanted to, needed to ask. 

“We can go there, I’m sure we’d be able to set up a grave for him, we can raise the stones ourselves if we have to, get a chantry priest for a service, whatever he would have wanted.” 

“Thanks, Mithos.” Alistair steadied himself as best he could, trying to stifle down his pain. “He would have liked that I think, he really would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't resist it, I had to have a try at writing some Flemeth, she's my favourite character, but I didn't simply want to go over the mass of dialogue that is the start of your journey to assemble an army, so I went and did this instead. I thought it'd be interesting to sort of show my thoughts on Alistair's reaction to the Wardens' deaths, and also give him the kindness of having someone a little more sympathetic than Morrigan break the news to him. Also, title drop!


End file.
